“You know perfectly well I could not do anything so impertinent,” he said, with a touch of asperity. Imogen reddened. “Forgive me,” he went on, “I do not mean to speak harshly. But one thing—do promise me, Miss Wentworth, that if you are in any real trouble or dilemma here—anything in which your mother, as a stranger herself, might not be able to help you—you will not be afraid of applying to me.”
“Yes,” said Imogen, “I promise you.”
They were close to the house by this tune. As they entered the hall they came upon the two who had preceded them, warming themselves at the fire. Major Winchester stalked across and disappeared through a doorway without speaking. He had gone to look after some hot tea for Imogen, for she was blue with cold.
“What’s the matter now?” said Miss Forsyth.
“Have you offended his majesty, Miss Wentworth?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” said Imogen.
“How silly you are, Mab!” said Trixie.
“Don’t you see, Imogen, she—like the rest of us—is so flabbergasted that she doesn’t know how to take it?”
“Well, no wonder,” Mabella replied, lightly.
“Did any one ever before see Major Winchester devote himself like that to anything in the shape of a young lady? How have you done it, Miss Wentworth?”