I was horribly distressed. I tried some vague words of consolation for the unknown evil, and laid my hand lightly on one heaving shoulder, only to withdraw it as if seared by the touch. Then I sat down quietly and waited, while Ta-ta, more daring, set up a kindly howl of sympathetic lamentation, which happily caused a diversion.
'I ought to be ashamed of myself,' she said, sitting upright, and drying her eyes. 'I don't know what you must think of me, Mr. Maude.'
'I don't think anything of you,' I said at random, being far too much distressed by her unhappiness to think of any words more appropriate. 'Now, tell me, what is the matter?'
I was in no hurry for the answer, for I had already a very strong presentiment what it would be.
'Papa has found us out; he's at the cottage now.'
But he was even nearer, as a heavy tread on the stone steps outside the front door at this moment told us. Babiole jumped up, with her cheeks on fire and her lips parted, rather as if prepared for the onslaught of a mad bull.
'H'm, h'm, no one about! And no knocker!' we heard a thick voice say imperiously, as my town-bred visitor stumped about the steps.
'Look here, Babiole; I think you'd better go, dear. Run through the back door, and comfort mamma.'
There was no use disguising the fact that our visitor's arrival was a common calamity. She made one step away, but then turned back, clasped my right hand tightly, and whispered—
'Remember, you don't see him at his best. He's a very, very clever man, indeed—at home.'