He had felt confident that this angular and sour-visaged woman was Miss Wroat, and that his deserted young wife was in the woman’s employ, under the assumed name of Mrs. Peters. In his astonishment and disappointment, he stood pale and speechless.
“You may go down, Mary,” said Mrs. Peters to the housemaid. “The gentleman came to see me, you hear.”
The housemaid, being in awe of Mrs. Peters, precipitately retired to the servants’ hall.
“And now, sir,” said Mrs. Peters, in such a voice as she might have employed in uttering a challenge, “what may you want with me?”
Rufus Black struggled to regain his self-control.
“There is some mistake,” he gasped. “I—I remember you. I saw you in the Regent street picture-shop the other day, with—with a young lady. I thought she called herself Mrs. Peters. I am come to see her.”
“Come in,” said Mrs. Peters, who was in inward terror of Lally’s appearance upon the scene, and who had made up her mind to prevent an interview between the young pair at all costs. “Come in, sir, and I’ll hear what you have to say.”
She conducted him to the library, which was across the hall from the drawing-rooms. It was lighted by a pendant chandelier, in which were a dozen wax candles which burned with mellow light. A great circular bay-window took up one side of the apartment, the opposite side containing a great fire-place, in which logs were burning. The angles on either side the chimney were fitted with tall book-cases, and one end of the room was also lined with rows of shelves well filled with books, and protected by plate-glass doors. At the opposite end of the room was a glazed garden door, opening upon the grassy terrace.
This room already bid fair to become a favorite resort of Lally. She had ordered it to be warmed and lighted at the same time with the drawing-room, and was likely to visit it during the evening. Mrs. Peters locked the door, therefore, as she motioned Rufus to a seat. He declined the civility, however, and remained standing, his hat in his hand.
“I remember you very well now,” said Mrs. Peters, pretending to search her memory, “now that you have mentioned the picture-shop. You are the young gentleman who annoyed the young lady with me? Yes, I remember you. What are you doing here? Why have you followed us to Scotland? Why have you come to Heather Hills?”