Nell returned a few minutes after he did. She shook her head.
"He was out. She hasn't been there."
"There's Sarah yet. She isn't back."
"Must we wait, Denis?"
"No. I'm off to the police station. If she should bring her back, I can go and cancel orders."
His hand was on the door latch. "Here's Sarah!" he said.
Sarah hurried in, wet, breathless.
"No, missansir—oh, and them crool moters—and she such a baby for all her grown ways!"
The wind and the rain beat in angrily. Denis closed the door, and turned to speak to Nell. Something drove up and stopped outside. He flung open the door. In the light of the lamp they could discern a small figure standing by a horse's head. The horse was in a four-wheeled cab, the driver was getting down from his box. The next instant Sheila Pat was met at the gate and marshalled up the steps. Into the hall she came, a small, weary figure, drenched through, her face shining white in the lamplight.
They closed round her; Nell's arms squeezed her desperately; there was a babel of questions, reprimands, relief.