Sally got up and went to a window which overlooked the driveway and lawn. Parting the curtains, she glanced out. The lawn was fair with moonlight, the driveway silver-blue, the woods behind dark and still. There was a closed car waiting at one side of the porte-cochere. The others--all those belonging to Gosnold House, as well as those of guests for the fete--were hidden among the trees bordering the road or parked in the open spaces around the garage and stables at a considerable remove from the house.
There was no one to be seen on the lawn or drive, no hurrying figure cloaked in Quaker grey.
After some minutes of fruitless watching Sally ventured doubtfully: "What time is it?"
"Ten past one, miss."
"Nearly half an hour--"
"Yes, miss."
"Do you think Mrs. Gosnold would mind if you went to make sure she was all right?"
"I don't know, Miss Manwaring. She doesn't like interference, if I may make so bold as to say so."
A little later, however, the woman added tentatively: "I wouldn't care to take the responsibility, myself, of going to see."
"But if I order you to go--"