Without another word, or giving Rodney a chance to utter one, Mr. Dale bolted from, rather than left, the room; within ten seconds of his going the slamming of the front door announced that he had left the house. For some seconds Elmore sat still; then, getting up from his chair, began to fill a pipe with tobacco. Miss Joyce put her head into the room, noiselessly, unexpectedly, as she seemed to have a trick of doing.
"Was that Mr. Dale? I thought it might be you. Has he been in here?"
"He has. You come in and take away the breakfast things; I've had all I want to eat."
Coming in, she began to do as he had said, talking, as she put the things together, in a half whisper which recalled Mr. Dale's staccato undertones. It seemed to be a house of whispers.
"What did he say to you?"
"He came to offer me a tip."
"A tip?"
"He said that if I took his tip I shouldn't stand upon the order of my going, but go at once, and go as far as possible between now and to-morrow."
She put both hands to her left side, as if unconscious that she had a plate in one and a teaspoon in the other.
"Rodney! Then--then--what are you going to do?"