"I didn't see her," he said, "I was giving out tickets for the up train. There was a terrific scrimmage between two dogs—no end of a row. Perhaps your brother or your father came in by the up train and took the child home. It was enough to frighten anybody to hear the lady that the little dog belonged to! She was right down screaming for somebody to rescue her dog."
"It might be that," assented Gertrude. All her bright colour had departed, she looked pale and anxious, and such an upset of her nicely laid plans was extremely annoying. Besides, she might be very much blamed for leaving Maud alone.
"Well! I'm not going to wheel home that empty chair," said she, "you might keep it for me till to-morrow."
Then she turned to Mrs. Parsons. It was an aggravation of annoyance to have her as a witness of these contretemps.
"Really, Mrs. Parsons!" she said sharply, "I cannot attend to any business to-night. I must get home and see about Maud. It's very thoughtless of Conway to take her off without my knowing."
Mrs. Parsons had quite intended to accompany Gertrude to St. Olave's and see the end of the story, and she was highly offended at Gertrude's tone.
So she turned homewards alone and she told the story in her own way.
Gertrude's footsteps grew quicker and quicker as she neared St. Olave's. It seemed to her that a string was being tied round her neck so tightly that she could scarcely get her breath.
If Conway had taken Maud home, why had he left the wheel chair?
On the doorstep she paused to pull herself together. It was ridiculous to be so nervous.