“Ah!” Mrs. Gilson exclaimed, a little enlightened. “You mean the gentleman that was here, and spoke for you? Yes, you are right, it’s him you’ve to thank. Well, he’s gone to Whitehaven, but he’ll see you tomorrow.”
Henrietta sighed.
“In the meantime,” Mrs. Gilson continued, “you’ll give me your word you’ll not run. Gilson is bound for you in fifty pounds to show you when you’re wanted. And as fifty pounds is fifty pounds, and a mint of money, I’d as soon turn the key on you as not. Girls that run once, run easy,” the landlady added severely.
“I will not run away,” Henrietta said meekly—more meekly perhaps than she had ever spoken in her life. “And—and I am much obliged to you, and thankful to you,” in a very small voice. “Will you please to let me go to my room, and you can lock me in?”
She had risen from her seat, and though she did not turn to the landlady, she stole, shamed and askance, a look at her. Her lip trembled, her head hung. And Mrs. Gilson, on her side, seemed for a moment on the verge of some unwonted demonstration; she stood awkward and large, and perhaps from sheer clumsiness avoided even while she appeared to invite the other’s look. But nothing happened until the two passed out, Henrietta first, like a prisoner, and Mrs. Gilson stiffly following.
Then there were half a dozen persons waiting to stare in the passage, and the way Mrs. Gilson’s tongue fell loose was a warning. In two seconds, only one held her ground: the same dark girl with the gipsy-like features whose mocking smile had annoyed Henrietta as she dressed that morning. Ah, me! what ages ago that morning seemed!
To judge from Mrs. Gilson’s indignation, this girl was the last who should have stood.
“Don’t you black-look me!” the landlady cried. “But pack! D’you hear, impudence, pack! Or not one drop of milk do I take from your old skinflint of a father! And he’ll drub you finely, if he’s not too old and silly—till you smile on the other side of your face! I’d like to know what’s taken you to-day to push yourself among your betters!”
“No harm,” the girl muttered. She had retreated, scowling, half-way down the stairs.
“And no good, either!” the landlady retorted. “Get you gone, or I’ll make your ears ring after another fashion!”