“Found out!” thought the guilty conscience, which needs no accuser.
“Now just you look here, sir,” said the old housekeeper, in a loud voice, as she literally button-holed the boy, by hooking one thin finger in his jacket, so that he could not get away, “I know all.”
“You—you know everything,” faltered the boy.
“Yes, sir. Ah, you may well look ’mure. You little thought I knew.”
“How—how did you find out?” he stammered.
“Ah! how did I find out, indeed! Now, look here, am I to go straight to the doctor and tell him!”
“No, no, pray don’t,” whispered Dexter, catching her arm.
“Well, then, I must tell Miss Helen.”
“No, no, not this time,” cried Dexter imploringly; and his tone softened the old lady, who shook the borders of her cap at him.
“Well, I don’t know what to say,” said Mrs Millett softly. “They certainly ought to know.”