“I saw no one; I heard no one. Neither was I whispering.”
He looked at her intently. That she was telling an untruth he believed, for he felt positive that some second person had been there. “Why did you stop me, then, when I would have gone in pursuit?”
“It was your fault for attempting to leave me,” was Charlotte’s answer. “I would not have remained alone for a house full of gold.”
“I suppose it is some secret. I think, whatever it may be, Charlotte, you might trust me.” He spoke significantly, a stress on the last word. Charlotte rose from her seat.
“So I would,” she said, “were there anything to confide. Just look at me! My dress is ruined.”
“You should take it up if you go amidst clumsy trees, whose rough trunks nearly meet.”
“I had it up—until you came,” returned Charlotte, jumping upon a chair that she might survey it in one of the side glasses. “You startled me so that I dropped it. I might have it joined, and a lace flounce put upon it,” she mused. “It cost a great deal of money, did this dress, I can tell you, Mr. George.”
She jumped off the chair again, and George produced the packet confided to him by Mrs. Verrall.
“I promised her that you should have it to-night,” he said. “Hence my unfortunate appearance here, which it seems has so startled you.”
“Oh, that’s over now. When did you get back again?”