'I don't know, Mr. Ackroyd,' she answered. 'I'll ask her; I don t think she's going anywhere.'
'It won't be like last Sunday?'
'She really didn't feel well. And I can't promise, you know Mr. Ackroyd.'
She met his eyes for an instant, then looked along the street There was a faint smile on her lips, with just a suspicion of some trouble.
'But you will ask her?'
'Yes, I will.'
She added in a lower voice, and with constraint:
'I'm afraid she won't go by herself.'
'Then come with her. Do! Will you?'
'If she asks me to, I will.'