“My good girl, what do you mean?”
“Oh, you don’t know o’ course, miss; but you very soon will. And him with his fine airs, and his boots never shiny enough. He’ll find out the difference now; and as to me staying in a home like this where one of us is a thief, I’ve got my character to look after, and—”
There was a sharp knock and ring, and from force of habit, Liza turned.
“In a month, miss, if you please; and now you’re going to hear what come an hour ago, and is all over the town by now.”
Louise caught at the table to steady herself, and her lips parted to question the girl, but she had hurried out of the room. The door was opened, a deep male voice was heard, and directly after Duncan Leslie hurried in.
“It is no time for ceremony,” he gasped, breathlessly. “Where is your father?”
“At—Mr Van Heldre’s,” panted Louise, as she turned to him with extended hands. “Mr Leslie, pray—pray tell me—what is wrong?”
“Tell you?” he cried, catching her almost in his arms, and holding her firmly; and his voice sounded deep, hoarse, and full of commiseration. “How am I to dare to tell you, Louise?”
“Mr Leslie!”
She half struggled from him, but he retained her hands.