"I had one once of that kind; it was so bad that I could not even give it away. So I put it in the dog's basket. Lindo used to sleep on it. He loved it, poor dear! It may be there still."
We went downstairs again, and I pulled Lindo's basket out from under the stairs.
The old black wrap was still in it, but it was mildewy and stuck to the basket. It tore as I released it. It reminded me painfully of my lost darling.
"The very thing!" she said, with enthusiasm, as the dilapidated travesty of a coat shook itself free. "Quiet and unobtrusive to the last degree. Parisian in colour and simplicity. And mole colour is so becoming. Can you really spare it? Then with the moreen petticoat I am provided, equipped."
We went back to the kitchen again.
"What will you do with them?" I said, pointing to her convict clothes which had dried perfectly stiff, owing to the amount of mud on them. How such quantities of mud could have got on to them was a mystery to me.
"It certainly does not improve one's clothes, to hide in a wet ditch in a ploughed field," she said meditatively. "I will dispose of them early to-morrow morning. I picked a place as I found my way here."
"Not on my premises?" I said anxiously.
"Of course not. Do you take me for a monster of ingratitude? I'll manage that all right."
I suddenly remembered that she must have food to take with her. I went to the larder, and when I came back I looked at her with renewed amazement.