“I’d like to see her,” said the other eagerly. “Perhaps I—”
“I’ll call her out for a cup of tea,” said Mrs. Mount. “But be polite to her, Eliza, until I’ve found out.”
So Mrs. Mount went in and knocked on Miss Smith’s door. There was no answer. She knocked again, and then she opened the door. Miss Smith and her suit case were gone.
At first Mrs. Mount was glad.
“She must have heard what I said to Eliza in the garden,” she told her nephew. “She was frightened and ran away.”
“Frightened?” said he. “Is that how you imagine a sensitive young girl feels when she hears herself slandered and insulted? I brought her here—to you—because I thought you’d understand, and you’ve driven her away. An adventuress? Why, one look at her face might have told you—”
He turned away abruptly, but one look at his face had certainly told Mrs. Mount something. She was no longer glad, but very sorry. She would have told him so, but it was too late. He had gone out of the house, slamming the door behind him.
VII
Miss Smith had done the obvious thing. She could not set off with her suit case and walk home, so she had taken the next best course. She had gone quietly out of the back door, through the garden, and down the road in the direction of the ship, which was, after all, a sort of bridge to home.
It was a long walk, and she had to ask her way, but in the course of time she got there. A young officer was standing under the shed, superintending the unloading of the cargo, and she went up to him.