"No."
"What's her Chris'en name?"
A warning glance shot from Sir Karl's eyes, cautioning Ann Hopley to be on her guard. In truth it was not needed: the woman was caution itself, and had her ready wits at hand always. Karl saw what it was--some parish paper about to be left--and was recovering his inward equanimity.
"My mistress's Christian name? Mary."
"Mrs. Mary Grey," repeated the policeman, writing down the name on the paper. "You'll please to give it her," he added, handing the paper in. "It have got to be attended to."
"All tax-papers for Mrs. Grey must come to Foxwood Court," interposed, Sir Karl. "Mrs. Grey takes the house furnished, and has nothing to do with the taxes."
"Beg pardon, Sir Karl, but that there's a voting-paper for a poor-law guardian," said the man, touching his hat.
"Oh, a voting-paper. Let it go in then," concluded Sir Karl. Mrs. Grey had no more to do with voting than she had with taxes; but Sir Karl let it pass.
They were in the maze again; Ann Hopley having wound herself out of sight with the paper. Mr. Panton, the disbeliever, wound himself in and out of the trees and about the paths; but the voices always guided him back again.
"What a delightful place, Sir Karl!" cried Mrs. Panton. "Quite like a Fair Rosamond's Bower."