The girl saw that the woman looked queerly at her, but she was prepared for such looks. Unconsciously she had steeled herself to bear them. “Very well,” she returned, and did not ask who wanted her. But she went back to her table, dabbed her eyes with cold water, and smoothed her hair and her neck-ribbon—she had pride enough for that. Then she went to the door. The woman was still outside, still staring.
“I did not know that you were waiting,” Henrietta said, faintly surprised. “I know my way down.”
“I was to come with you, miss.”
“Where are they, then?”
“They are where you were this morning,” the woman answered. “This way, if you please.”
Henrietta followed listlessly, and fancied in the sullenness of her apathy that she was proof against aught that could happen. But when she had descended the stairs and neared the door of Mr. Rogers’s room—which was in a dusky passage—she found herself, to her astonishment, brushing past a row of people, who flattened themselves against the wall to let her pass. Their eyes and their hard breathing—perhaps because she was amongst them before she saw them—impressed her so disagreeably that her heart fluttered, and she paused. For an imperceptible instant she was on the point of turning and going back. But, fortunately, at that moment the door opened wide, Ann stood aside, and Mrs. Gilson showed herself. She beckoned to the girl to enter.
“Come in, miss,” she said gruffly, as Henrietta complied. “Here’s some gentlemen want to ask you a question or two.”
Henrietta saw two persons with their faces turned towards her seated behind a table, which bore ink and paper and one or two calf-bound books. Behind these were three or four other persons standing; and beside the door close to her were as many more, also on their feet. But nowhere could she see the dreaded face of her brother, or, indeed, any face that she knew. And after advancing firmly enough into the room, she stopped, and, turning, looked uncertainly at Mrs. Gilson.
“There must be some mistake,” she murmured. “I have come into the——”
“Wrong room, miss?”—the speaker was Bishop, who was one of the three or four who stood behind the two at the table. “No, there’s no mistake, miss,” he continued, with exaggerated cheerfulness. “It’s just a formality. Only just a formality. These gentlemen wish to ask you one or two questions.”