Mrs. Gracedew turned away, but after a few vague steps faced her again. “Kiss me.”
Cora flew to her arms, and the compact had scarce been sealed before the younger of the parties was already at the passage to the front. “We meet of course at the station.”
Mrs. Gracedew thought. “If all goes well. But where shall you be meanwhile?”
Her confederate had no need to think. “Can’t you guess?”
The bang of the house-door, the next minute, so helped the answer to the riddle as fairly to force it, when she found herself alone, from her lips. “At that funny old grotto? Well,” she sighed, “I like funny old grottos!” She found herself alone, however, only for a minute; Mr. Prodmore’s formidable presence had darkened the door from the court.
VII
“My daughter’s not here?” he demanded from the threshold.
“Your daughter’s not here.” She had rapidly got under arms. “But it’s a convenience to me, Mr. Prodmore, that you are, for I’ve something very particular to ask you.”
Her interlocutor crossed straight to the morning-room. “I shall be delighted to answer your question, but I must first put my hand on Miss Prodmore.” This hand the next instant stayed itself on the latch, and he appealed to the amiable visitor. “Unless indeed she’s occupied in there with Captain Yule?”
The amiable visitor met the appeal. “I don’t think she’s occupied—anywhere—with Captain Yule.”