The countenance of Mr. Quincunx changed. He dropped his friend’s hand, and moved into the centre of the room.
“That must be the circus-people,” he whispered. “They’ve come for Dolores. You’ll support me won’t you?” He looked imploringly at Vennie. “You’ll tell them they can’t have her—that I refuse to give her up—that I’m going to adopt her?”
He went out and opened the door.
It was not the circus-men he found waiting on his threshold. Nor was it the police. It was only one of the under-gardeners from Nevilton House. The youth explained that Mr. Romer had sent him to fetch Lacrima.
“They be goin’ to lunch early, mistress says, and the young lady ’ave to come right along ’ome wi’ I.”
Vennie intervened at this moment between her agitated host and the intruder.
“I’ll bring Miss Traffio home,” she said sternly, “when she’s ready to come. You may go back and tell Mrs. Romer that she’s with me,—with Miss Seldom.”
The youth touched his hat, and slouched off, without further protest.
Vennie, returning into the kitchen, found Mr. Quincunx standing thoughtfully by the mantelpiece, stroking his beard, and the two Italians engaged in an excited conversation in their own tongue.