She went flying onwards, and gained the door in a few minutes. The landlord, a respectable, simple old yeoman, in a yellow waistcoat and top-boots, who was a farmer as well as an innkeeper, met her at the entrance.
"Mary ain't quite so well, miss," he began, more hastily than he was in the habit of speaking. "She's lying down. I'm afeared I can't ask you to go up this afternoon."
"I have not come to see her," returned Georgina, ignoring ceremony. "Is Mr. Frederick St. John here?"
The man seemed taken back. He might not admit it; he could not conscientiously deny it; and he only stared by way of answer.
"I know he is here," said Georgina, "You need not hesitate."
"Well, miss, he is here, and that's the truth. But I mightn't say it."
"I want to see him," she continued, walking into the family parlour, then vacant. "Ask him to come to me."
It appeared that he could not come without his attendant in the curious hat, for when Mr. St. John, who came down immediately, entered the room, that gentleman's hat and head appeared over his shoulder. Very haughtily Mr. St. John waved him off, and closed the door to shut him out.
"Georgina, what brings you here?"
"How did it happen?" she asked eagerly. "Are you really arrested?"