“Yes, but not, of course, until he has rescued her from an oubliette, and a band of masked ruffians set on to her by his mother,” said Miss Thane matter-of-factly. “She has to suffer a good deal of persecution before she elopes.”
“I am of the opinion,” said Sir Tristram with asperity, “that a little persecution would do my cousin a world of good! Her thirst for romance is likely to lead her into trouble. In fact, I was very much afraid that she had already run into trouble when I found her bandboxes upon the road. Perhaps, since she appears to have told you so much, she has also told you how she came to lose them?”
Miss Thane, perceiving that this question would lead her on to dangerous ground, mendaciously denied all knowledge of the bandboxes. She then made the discovery that Sir Tristram Shield’s eyes were uncomfortably penetrating. She met their sceptical gaze with all the blandness she could summon to her aid.
“Indeed!” he said, politely incredulous. “But perhaps you can tell me why, if she was bound for London by the night mail, as her maid informed me, she is still in this inn?”
“Certainly!” said Sarah, rising to the occasion. “She arrived too late for the mail, and was forced to put up for the night.”
“What did she do for night gear?” inquired Shield.
“Oh, I lent her what she needed!”
“I suppose she did not think the loss of her baggage of sufficient interest to call for explanation?”
“To tell you the truth—” began Sarah confidingly.
“Thank you! I should like to hear the truth.”