Some objection was made. I did not stop to hear it: "I cannot wait for any words! And I will not wait another second for any human soul!"
Then, running beside me as I made for the front door, the old butler spoke again: "——a policeman in our square." He would call the policeman in.
The old man was right. A policeman stood at the corner, watching that no harm should come to the ladies of Lowndes Square.
I had run out, with the butler protesting at my heels: "Not in the street, miss!" he said, with the first hint of emotion I had found in him.
I did not wait; but he must have brought the policeman in during my outpouring, for the look of the hall during those swift seconds is stamped on my brain. The elderly maid kneeling at her mistress's feet, changing her shoes; the policeman facing my aunt, helmet in hand, his reverent eye falling before the dignity of Mrs. Harborough, while I, at his elbow, poured out broken sentences, interlarded with: "I'll tell you the rest as we go——"
My strained voice was grown weak. I wondered, suddenly, if it had ever really reached their ears.
I was like a person down under the sea, trying to make my voice heard through a mile of murky water.
I was like a woman buried alive, who, in the black middle of the night, beats at her coffin-lid in some deserted graveyard.
"It is no use!" I cried. "I shall go back alone."
At last we were all going out of the door. The policeman put on his helmet.