"You needn't answer," said she, dryly, "for I know the reason. You won't leave England because of a girl."
Dudley did not start, but the quiver which passed over his features betrayed him.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Mrs. Higgs. "It's not much use telling me a fib when I want to know anything. You wouldn't own up, so I went ferreting on my own account, and I found out what I wanted. You're in love with a girl named Wedmore—Doreen Wedmore—and it's on her account that you won't leave England, and throw in your lot with me, like a man!"
Dudley's face had grown gray with fear. When he spoke it was in a changed tone. He had lost his confidence, his defiant robustness. He almost seemed to be begging for mercy, as he answered:
"I don't deny it. I don't deny anything. I did care for a girl; I do now. But I have given her up. I was bound to, with this ghastly business hanging to my heels. I shall never see her again."
Mrs. Higgs cut in with decision:
"No, that you won't. I'll answer for it!"
Dudley looked at her, but did not dare to speak. There was something in the spiteful tones of her voice, when she mentioned Doreen, which filled him with vague dread. It was in a subdued and conciliatory voice that he presently tried to turn the conversation to another subject.
"Who was the girl you sent this evening, the girl who brought your message?"
"Nobody of any consequence," answered Mrs. Higgs, as if the subject was not to her taste. "A girl who lives here. We call her Carrie."