“What is this?” she asked, in an intimidating voice. “Miss Smith, what is this, if you please?”
Perhaps Mary, aware that her place was at stake, was desperate. At any rate she behaved with a dignity which astonished Vaughan. “This gentleman, Madam,” she explained, speaking with firmness though her face was on fire, “travelled with me on the coach yesterday. A few minutes ago he appeared and addressed me, and insisted that the—the parcel he carries is mine, and that I left it in the coach. It is not mine, and I have not seen it before.”
Miss Sibson folded her arms upon her ample person. The position was not altogether new to her.
“Sir,” she said, eying the offender majestically, “have you any explanation to offer—of this extraordinary conduct?”
He had, indeed. As clearly as his temper permitted he told his tale, his tone half ironical, half furious.
When he paused, “Who do you say gave it to you?” Miss Sibson asked in a deep voice.
“I do not know her name. A lady who travelled in the coach.”
Miss Sibson’s frown grew even deeper. “Thank you,” she replied, “that will do. I have heard enough, and I understand. I understand, sir. Be good enough to leave the house.”
“But, Madam——”
“Be good enough to leave the house,” she repeated. “That is the door,” pointing to it. “That is the door, sir! Any apology you may wish to make, you can make by letter to me. To me, you understand! I think one were not ill-fitting!”