"Yes, it is Wednesday."
Mrs. Colebrook, consonant with her principles, had effaced herself so effectively that Christina had to seek her in her hiding-place. She was sitting in Sault's room and sniffed suspiciously when the girl called her.
"Mother, you have often told me about something Ambrose did when you were very ill. Will you tell me again?"
Mrs. Colebrook was happy to tell, embellishing the story with footnotes and interpolations descriptive of her own impressions on that occasion.
"Thank you, Mother."
"What did he want? I didn't like to come down whilst he was here—not in this old skirt. Did he know poor Mr. Sault? A la-did-da sort of fellow, but very polite. He quite flustered me, he was so friendly."
She relieved the girl from the necessity for replying by supplying her own answers.
At the foot of the stairs Mrs. Colebrook heard the snick of a key as Christina locked the door of her room. Mrs. Colebrook sighed. Christina was getting more and more unsociable.