"I didn't mean any harm, sir," she said. "I only wanted to have a look around. The house is so upset."
"Put that milk on the dining-room table," he said.
She obeyed, glad that a dreaded ordeal seemed to have ended ere it had well begun. Armathwaite followed, and closed the dining-room door. What he really feared was that she might drop the jug, and that the resultant crash would awaken his guest before Betty and he had engaged in a heart-to-heart talk.
"Now," he said, raising the blind, and flooding the room with clear morning light, "I take you for a sensible girl, Betty."
"I hope I am, sir," she answered shyly.
"Have you quite recovered from your fright?"
"Yes, sir."
She reddened again, thinking she knew what was coming. She could have dealt with Walker, but glib pertness would not avail when this tall stranger's eyes were piercing her very soul. Nevertheless, his tone was gentle and reassuring—at first.
"I was ignorant of the real facts, you see, so I had to defend myself," he said. "I know the truth now. Miss Garth is upstairs and asleep. She heard the commotion caused by the gong, and could not endure the strain and loneliness of that dark garret any longer—"
"Was Miss Meg there—in the loft?" cried Betty, blurting out the first vague thought that occurred to her bemused brain, because those words, "Miss Garth is upstairs and asleep," swamped her understanding with a veritable torrent of significance.