She suffered the girl to go, so conscious of her wish to escape the scrutiny of even friendly eyes that she did not turn to look at her. When the pit-pat of her slippered feet had died away, her ladyship said to herself, with rueful visage:
"That girl's in a mood for anything; I'm not sure that I was wise to let her go alone; but how could I thrust myself upon her craving for solitude? I only hope she'll do nothing worse than she's done already. Now, who's that? Is she coming back again, or is it Jane Simmons? Those steps belong to neither--that's Rupert; he's found out that I'm missing, and he's coming dashing after me."
The lady's surmise proved to be correct; someone was "dashing" after her, two or three stairs at a time--a gentleman who, rushing out into the hall, looked about him; then, espying her, exclaimed:
"Margaret! You little wretch! If you only knew what a fright you gave me. What the dickens made you get out of bed, out of the room, at this time of the morning and slip down here?"
"Business."
"Business! What in thunder do you mean by business?"
The gentleman approached close to the lady's side; she was looking up at him with the demurest smile.
"Rupert, I've had a dream."
"You've had a what? What's that you're holding?"
"That's the dream."