That was what he had said, and she would never forget, because she knew—that it was true.
She went to her own room, where was her private writing-table. She found the room in the hands of a maid dusting and sweeping.
“You need not go, Alice,” she said. “I am only going to write a letter.” The girl went on with her work.
“I did not think to appeal to you, yet I find I must appeal for help that I know you will give, because but for you I should not need it. I—”
She paused.
“Funny, miss, Mrs. Bonner’s lodger going off like that in such a hurry, wasn’t it?” said the girl on her knees beside the hearth.
Joan started. “What do you mean, Alice?”
“The gentleman you gave our Bob a letter for—Mr. Alston,” said Alice Betts. “Funny his going off like he did in such a hurry.”
“Then you—you mean he is gone?”
“Thursday night, miss.”