"I should be delighted," gasped Fanny, who felt like a bird in the net of the fowler, and whose soul was filled with one wild longing—the longing to escape.
"What day shall we say?"
"Monday—no, not Monday, I have an engagement. Tuesday—I am not sure about Tuesday. Suppose—suppose I write?"
"I am disengaged all next week; any day you please to appoint I shall be glad to come. What a large garden you have!"
"Would you like to come round it?"
"Yes; I will wait till you put on your hat."
"Oh, I scarcely ever wear a hat in the garden. If you come this way we can go out through the side door."
They wandered around the garden, Miss Hancock making notes in her own mind. As they passed the kitchen window, a face gazed out, a beery, leery face, behind which could be seen the pale phantom of Susannah. The face was gazing at Miss Hancock with an expression of amused and critical impudence that caused that lady to pause and snort.
"Did you see that man looking from the window?" she asked.
"Yes," said Fanny in an agony, "it must have been the plumber; he came this morning to mend the stove. Oh, here is your carriage waiting; so glad you called. Yes, I'll write."