“You have?”
“It has been there this half hour, and we are only waiting for our opportunity. Now then, will you help me?”
“Well,” said Mrs Pontardent hesitating, “if it is that—”
“It is like that, I tell you; but she wants it to appear that she had no hand in it, to keep up the fiction. You see?”
“Yes,” said the woman, rather hoarsely; “but I don’t like it, Rockley.”
“Friends or enemies?—one word?” he said sternly.
“Friends,” she said quickly. “What am I to do?”
“Go back at once, and get hold of young Denville. He’s half-tipsy somewhere.”
“Yes.”
“Tell him he has shamefully neglected his sister, and that he is to take her out in the garden for a walk straight down the broad grass path, and beg her pardon.”