“Is Mr. Stewart waiting?” she asked.
“No, miss,” the woman answered, civilly enough, but staring as if she could never see enough of her. “But Mrs. Gilson will be glad if you’ll speak to her.”
Henrietta raised her eyebrows. It was on the tip of her tongue to answer, “Then let her come to me!” But she remembered that these people did not know who she was—knew indeed nothing of her. And she answered instead: “I will come. Where is she?”
“This way, miss. I’ll show you the way.”
Henrietta wondered, as the woman conducted her along several low-ceiled passages, and up and down odd stairs, and past windows which disclosed the hill rising immediately at the back of the house, what the landlady wanted.
“She is an odious woman!” she thought, with impatience. “How horrid she was to me last night! If ever there was a bully, she is one! And this creature looks not much better!”
Modest Ann, turning her head at the moment, belied the ill opinion by pointing out a step in a dark corner.
“There is a stair here, miss,” she said. “Take care.”
“Thank you,” Henrietta answered in her clear, girlish voice. “Is Mr. Stewart with Mrs.—— What’s her name?”
“Mrs. Gilson? No, miss.”