“Give it me,” she replied; “I shall expect you to-morrow morning with your clerks. Thank you; I am sorry I was obliged to disturb you. Mynheer Noks. Can I pass out unobserved?”
He unlocked the office entrance for her, holding up the oil-lamp. Under the little portico she looked back.
“I do believe,” she said, “you think I am going to kill myself.”
“Mevrouw!” he stammered, horrified, over the wine-stain on his shirt-front—“Mevrouw!”
“Set your mind at rest, my good notary. Only fools think they can kill themselves. God has not made life quite so easy as that.”
The carriage-lights came twisting round to the little side gate. As the footman held open the door there was a glitter of polished glass and a cosey vision of shaded silk.
“Come to-morrow morning early,” said Ursula, with her foot on the step, “and you shall have one of my poor father-in-law’s regalias.”
As soon as she knew herself to be out of sight she pulled the check-string and ordered the coachman to drive to the Parsonage.
“There goes eleven o’clock,” said Piet to his companion. “One would think there was truth in what people say.”
“What do people say?” asked the footman.