"Will you be so kind, sir, as step into your sitting-room for an instant?"
"I am going upstairs, Brumm. I have not felt so tired for years."
"But--I beg your pardon, sir," resumed Brumm, speaking in the covert tone he had before used, and which a little surprised his master--"you--you are wanted there. If you will step this way, sir, I will explain."
Mr. St. John quitted the proximity of the drawing-room, which was evidently what Brumm wished. "Miss Beauclerc was waiting to speak to him," he whispered as he crossed the hall. "She said she wanted a word with him in private."
"Miss Beauclerc!" Wondering very much, not perhaps at her wishing to speak to him, there was nothing extraordinary in that, but at the air of secrecy that Brumm seemed to invest the affair with, Mr. St. John went to his sitting-room. Georgina was pacing it somewhat like a caged bird, hardly able to suppress her impatience.
"I have been waiting outside for you since twelve o'clock!" she exclaimed, ignoring all ceremonious greeting. "I thought you would never come!"
"Do you want me?" asked Mr. St. John.
"Do I want you! I never wanted any one so much in my life. Has Mrs. St. John been telling you that Frederick has disappeared?"
"Yes. She thinks he has gone to London."
"What nonsense!" ejaculated Georgina, pushing back her bonnet from her flaming cheeks. "As if he would go off to London in that manner! I have come to tell you about him, Mr. St. John. He had no one to trust, and so he trusted me. He could not send a letter to await you, lest Mrs. St. John should open it. He is at the Barley Mow all this time; a prisoner."