“Letitia,” said Mary, with a trembling voice. “It will do no good for you and me to quarrel. If you ever say anything like this again I will go away from your house that very day. Lord Frogmore is a kind, good man; he is nicer to me than anyone in this house. Perhaps the gentlemen here do despise old maids. If they do, I think it shows that they are very silly to despise anybody for such a cause. And it is not very pretty of you to say it. But if ever you speak to me of making up to anyone again——”
“Oh, you are just a fool, Mary Hill. Of course, I say whatever comes into my head when I am just mad with everybody: and everybody is against me—you too.”
And it became audible in the next room that Letitia in her turn had burst into angry tears. Lord Frogmore had remained quite still in his seat while this conversation was going on. He had not thought it any harm. He listened and sometimes a smile flitted across his face, sometimes a frown—at one point he started slightly—but no sense of guilt in his eavesdropping was in the mind of this depraved old gentleman. When, however, there occurred this outburst of tears, and it became evident that Mary was occupied in soothing her friend, and that Mrs. Parke was being laid down on the sofa and propped with pillows, that a cup of tea was spoken of as likely to do her good, and every sign was given of a permanent occupation of the other room, Lord Frogmore began to feel much confused as to how he was to escape. There was a glass door which led into the garden, but it was no longer in use as the weather was growing cold—and to get through a window even from a room on the ground floor was a perilous attempt for a person of his age. It was, however, the only thing to be done. He opened the window as softly as possible and slipped out—leaving as few traces as he could of his escape. But the sounds, however softened, could not but produce a great effect on the ladies in the outer room. Mrs. Parke sat bolt upright on the sofa, stopped sobbing as if by a miracle, and shivered to the very tips of her toes. Who was it—who could it be?
“Run round and see,” she whispered hoarsely to Mary, pushing her off as she stood beside the sofa. “For goodness sake, don’t stand and stare, but run round outside and see.”
CHAPTER XII.
Lord Frogmore had divined the course that would be taken by the ladies, and as soon as he escaped he hurried off in the opposite direction, from which, when Mary reached the door, he was visible tranquilly sauntering towards the house. He called to Mary as soon as he saw her at the door. “Miss Hill! I have been trying in vain to find my way to Marsham Ponds. Have you time to show me how to go?”
Mary begged him to wait a moment and returned to reassure Letitia. “Whoever it was it was not Lord Frogmore. He is out in the West shrubbery trying to find the way to Marsham, and he wants me to show him. Whoever it was it could not be he.”
Letitia drew a long breath of relief. “Well,” she said, “no one else matters much; but for goodness sake never let us begin to talk again without seeing if there’s anybody there.”
“Do you want me,” said Mary, “or can I go? I will tell Felicie to come down and give you your tea.”
“Oh, you can go—it’s better there should be someone to amuse Frogmore: but don’t you think you’ll get anything out of him, for every penny he has should come to the children. Now remember what I say.”