And she bustled out again, apparently in much confusion.
Harriet had dropped the thing she held in her hand, and stood looking at her cousin as if dismayed.
"I never thought any one was in," she said nervously. "It's Miss Mould, the lodger. She went out before I did, and I never heard her come back. Whatever will she think!"
"But of course," he stammered, "you will explain everything to her. She knows who I am, doesn't she?"
"I don't think so, and, even if she did—"
She stopped, and stood with eyes on the ground, doing her best to display maiden confusion. Then she began to cry.
"But surely, surely there is no need to trouble yourself," exclaimed Julian, almost distracted, beginning to be dimly conscious of all manner of threatening possibilities. "I will speak to the woman myself, and clear you of every—. Oh, but this is all nonsense. Let us go down at once, Harriet. What a pity you asked me to come up here!"
It was the nearest to a reproach that he had ever yet addressed to her. His face showed clearly how distressed he was, and that on his own account more than hers, for he could not conceive any blame save on himself for being so regardless of appearances.
"Go as quietly as ever you can," Harriet whispered. "The stairs creak so. Step very softly."
This was terrible to the poor fellow. To steal down in this guilty way was as bad as a confession of evil intentions, and he so entirely innocent of a shadow of evil even in his thought. Yet he could not but do as she bade him. Even on the stairs she urged him in a very loud whisper to be yet more cautious. He was out of himself with mortification; and felt angry with her for bringing him into such ignominy. In the back parlour once more, he took up his hat at once.