“You’d better not,” she answered, “for I’ve something to tell you that you’d like to hear.”
“Something that I’d like to hear,” he answered, hesitating: “is it about her?”
“Yes, it’s about her—all about her.”
“Come in,” he said.
She entered, and he shut and locked the door behind her.
“What are you a-doing that for?” asked Mrs. Gillingwater suspiciously.
“Nothing,” he answered, “but doors are best locked. You can’t tell who will come through them, nor when, if they’re left open.”
“That’s just another of his nasty ways,” muttered Mrs. Gillingwater, as she followed him down the passage into the sitting-room, which was quite dark except for some embers of a wood fire that glowed upon the hearth.
“Stop a minute, and I will light the lamp,” said her host.
Soon it burnt brightly, and while Samuel was making up the fire Mrs. Gillingwater had leisure to observe the room, in which as it chanced she had never been before, at any rate since she was a child. On the occasions of their previous interviews Samuel had always received her in the office or the kitchen.