Mrs. Deaves' face turned crimson. "You'll pay!" she cried, "or I leave this house!"
"And where will you go?" sneered the old man. "Back to share your father's genteel poverty?"
"Who made him poor?" she cried. "Who robbed him?"
George Deaves, with the tail of his eye on Evan, was sweating with terror. "Maud, I beg of you—!" he whispered.
It did seem to occur to her then that she had gone too far. She glared at Evan as if defying him to judge her, and marching up to him said bluntly: "Who are you?" This woman was magnificent in her insolence if in nothing else.
Evan coolly met her eye. "I'm the young man who paid the fares," he said, smiling.
She scowled at him. Clearly she had no humour.
Evan explained further: "I have been engaged to accompany Mr. Deaves on his walks hereafter."
"Oh, locking the stable door after the horse is stolen," she sneered. "He needs a keeper." She indicated the typewritten sheets. "Then you were present at this affair?"
"I was."