“What,” she wondered, “would come of it all? What would be the end for her? And had they found the boy?”
Already it seemed to her that she had lain a week, a month in the gaol. The people outside must have forgotten her. Would she be forgotten? Would they leave her there?
But she would not give way to such thoughts, and she set to work again with new energy. Swish! swish! Her hands were growing sore, but she had nearly finished the task. She looked complacently at the wide space she had cleared, and stooped to pin up one side of her gown which had slipped down. Then, swish! swish! with renewed vigour, unconscious that the noise of her sweeping drowned the grating of the key in the lock. So that she was not aware until a voice struck her ear, that she was no longer alone.
Then she wheeled about so sharply that, unused to pattens, she stumbled and all but fell. The accident added to her vexation. Her face turned red as a beet. For inside the door of the yard, contemplating her with a smile at once familiar and unpleasant, stood Mr. Hornyold.
“Dear, dear,” he said, as she glowered at him resentfully, ashamed at once of her short skirts and the task that compelled them. “They shouldn’t have put you to this! Though I’m sure a prettier sight you’d go far to see! But your hands are infinitely too white and soft, my dear—much too white and pretty to be spoiled by broom-handles! I must speak to Mother Weighton about it.”
“Perhaps if you would kindly go out a moment,” she said with spirit, “it were better. I could then put myself in order.”
“Not for the world!” Mr. Hornyold retorted, with something between a leer and a wink. “You’re very well as you are!” with a look at her ankles. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, I’m sure, but the contrary. I’m told that Lady Jersey at Almack’s shows more, and with a hundred to see! So you need not mind. And you could not look nicer if you’d done it on purpose.”
With a jerk she disengaged her shoes from the pattens, dropped the broom, and made for the door of her room, with such dignity as her kilted skirt left her. But before she reached it:
“Steady, my lady,” said Mr. Hornyold in a tone no longer wheedling, but harsh and peremptory, “you’re forgetting! You are in gaol, and you’ll be pleased to stop when you’re told, and do as you’re told! Don’t you be in such a hurry, my dear. I am here to learn if you have any complaints.”
“Only of your presence!” she cried, her face burning. “If you have come here only to insult me, I have heard enough.”