“Never mind; call to-morrow at four; and now good-morning, Mr. Henderson,” and she nodded her head and drove on.
But for a moment or two Henderson sat still on his saddle after she had passed him. What did she mean, he was asking himself. Did she suspect that there was anything between John Temple and May Churchill? that he had anything to do with her flight?
This idea which had haunted Henderson in spite of himself now recurred to his mind with threefold force. At all events he would go to the Hall and hear what Mrs. Temple had to say. And he did go, and was received by Mrs. Temple, who smilingly held out her hand to him.
“You see,” she said in that half-reckless way which was one of her characteristics, “I have not turned my back on you in spite of your troubles.”
“It is very good of you,” answered Henderson.
“Oh, being a parson’s daughter, I have naturally a spice of the devil in me, and a certain fellow-feeling to sinners. All men are sinners, you know,” she added, with a laugh; “even my paragon of a nephew, John Temple!”
“What about him?” asked Henderson, sharply.
“Oh, he posed a great deal as a saint, but I don’t quite believe in it all. Now sit down and tell me about Miss Churchill. Do you suppose she was induced to run away by John Temple?”
“How can I tell?” answered Henderson, darkly, with lowering brow.
“There was something in his manner—I don’t know what—that led me to believe that he knew more of the matter than he chose to say. Of course he didn’t run away with her; but I wonder if he knows where she is.”