“Yes, sir, the same day; and her things are lying about higgledy-piggledy. All the neighbours are talking about it.”
He turned away from the door-step without speaking, and went hastily down the lane to the house where Zita had been lodging. In her rooms nothing had been touched; all the presents that he had given her were in their usual places; there was no letter or scrap of writing anywhere.
“If you please, sir,” said Bianca, putting her head in at the door, “there's an old woman——”
He turned round fiercely.
“What do you want here—following me about?”
“An old woman wishes to see you.”
“What does she want? Tell her I c-can't see her; I'm busy.”
“She has been coming nearly every evening since you went away, sir, always asking when you would come back.”
“Ask her w-what her business is. No; never mind; I suppose I must go myself.”
The old woman was waiting at his hall door. She was very poorly dressed, with a face as brown and wrinkled as a medlar, and a bright-coloured scarf twisted round her head. As he came in she rose and looked at him with keen black eyes.