Before reaching home, she had surveyed her position, searched her memory. 'The wretch is counting on my weakness. Knowing she can do nothing, she thinks I shall be frightened by the threat. Money? And perhaps all she said only a lie to tempt me! Let her do her worst—and that will be nothing.'
And by this she held, letting the days go by. The fortnight passed. She was ill with apprehension, with suspense; but nothing happened. Three weeks, and nothing happened. Then Alma laughed, and went about the house singing her deliverance.
On that day, Mrs. Strangeways sat talking with Mrs. Carnaby, in the latter's drawing-room. Her manner was deferential, but that of a friend. Sibyl, queening it at some distance, had the air of conferring a favour as she listened.
'I haven't the least doubt that I shall soon lay my hand upon her. I have had an answer to my last advertisement.'
'Then let me see it,' replied Sibyl coldly.
'Impossible. I put myself in a position of much danger. I dare not trust even you, Mrs. Carnaby.'
'Very well. You know my promise. Get her into the hands of the police, and your reward is waiting.'
'But I may lose my opportunity, for want of money. If you would trust me with only—say a hundred pounds.'
'Not a farthing. I didn't ask you to undertake this. If you do it, well and good, I will pay you. But nothing till then.'
Mrs. Strangeways perused the carpet.