“No, but——”
“It’s so, it seems! Any way, you’ll please to tell me, young lady, where you are going in such a hurry.”
But Henrietta was at bay. She knew that if she were delayed even two minutes her chance was gone; for Bishop would be on her heels. So, “That’s my business!” she answered. And determined to escape, even by force, she turned about, light as a roe, tossed her head defiantly, and was off through the gate in a twinkling.
Mrs. Gilson was left gaping. She was not of a figure to take up the chase, for like many good housewives of her time, she seldom left her own premises except to go to church. But she was none the less certain that Henrietta ought to be followed. “There’s a fine trollop!” she cried. “It won’t be long before she runs her head into harm! Where’s that blockhead, Bishop?” And she bundled away to the coffee-room to tell him that the girl was gone.
She arrived scant of breath—and he was not there. The coffee-room was empty, and the landlady, knowing that he had stayed in the house on purpose to keep an eye on Henrietta’s movements, swept out again, fuming. In the passage she caught sight of Modest Ann and called her. “Where’s that man, Bishop?” she asked.
Ann stared as if she had never heard the name.
“Bishop?” she repeated stolidly.
“What else did I say?”
“He’s with the young lady.”
“He’s nothing of the kind!” Mrs. Gilson retorted, her temper rising.