But Henrietta stood smiling.
“Thank you,” she answered pleasantly, her clear young voice slightly raised. “But I wished to be placed in the landlady’s charge. Is she here?”
Gilson turned toward the doorway, which his wife’s portly form fitted pretty tightly.
“Here, missus,” he cried, “the young lady wants you.”
But Mrs. Gilson was a woman who was not wont to be hurried and before she reached the side of the carriage Stewart interposed; more roughly and more hurriedly than seemed discreet in the circumstances.
“Let us go in, and settle that afterwards,” he said.
“No.”
“Yes,” he retorted. And he grasped the girl’s arm tightly. His voice was low, but insistent. “Let us go in.”
But the girl only vouchsafed him a look, half wondering, half indignant. She turned to the landlady.
“I am tired, and need no supper,” she said. “Will you take me into a room, if you please, where I can rest at once, as we go on early to-morrow.”