“Yes; I knew that—you left me alone,” said the woman, and she gave a laugh.
“I strolled from the garden to the road—I had to ask the people at the Old Bell to keep a room for me, of course.”
“Of course.”
“And just outside the inn I came face to face with Miss Ayrton’s fly. Miss Ayrton was good enough to get out and walk with me, sending the fly on with her maid. I told the man to wait in order to take my portmanteau to the inn. It must be at the hall door now. We entered by the garden gate.”
“Nothing could be simpler,” said Ella. They had by this time walked up the steps into the drawing room. “Nothing could be simpler.” Then she turned to Phyllis. “But how did you contrive to evade the great function to-night?”
“Papa did not feel very well,” said Phyllis, “and I know that he was only too glad of an excuse to stay at home.”
“And you forsook your sick father to come to me? Oh, my dear Phyllis, what have you done?”
“If you ask me in confidence I should say that papa is not quite so ill as to stand in need of a nurse,” she whispered. “Oh, no! Make your mind easy. I have neglected no duty in coming to you.”
“Except your duty to yourself; you could not have had time to take any dinner at home. I shall have you a servants’ hall supper in ten minutes.”
“Please get nothing for me. I had a capital sort of dinner at home. But I should dearly like a cup of tea.”