'On what account?' said Rollo shortly and gravely, with a tone that meant to get to the bottom of that at least.
'Why,' said Mrs. Bywank, glancing at him, 'chiefly because I think Miss Wych does not know in the least how often they come. Which, if she thought twice about any one of them, she would. And if I just hint it to her, she looks at me, and says—"Often?—when was he here before? I don't remember." All the same, they don't understand that.'
'Well?' said Rollo. 'They are quite equal to taking care of themselves. Tell me of any danger to her.'
'It lies just there, sir. That she might be drawn on—in her innocence—to grant favours covering she knows not what. And sometimes that works trouble. Not caring two snaps for the men, it might never occur to her that they were favours—till the cobwebs were all round her feet. You know that, sir?'
Her hearer's brows contracted a little, and the grey eyes snapped; but he was silent.
'Now here's this fancy ball at Moscheloo,' said Mrs. Bywank,— 'with all sorts of charades that nobody ought to be in.'
'What is that? I have not heard of it.'
'I opine they have kept it rather close,' said the housekeeper,—'the day after to-morrow it comes off; and not a soul let in without a ticket. I hoped you might have one, Mr. Rollo.'
'What about the charades?'
'I don't like them,' said Mrs. Bywank decidedly,—'and they want Miss Wych in every one. So she's been getting her dresses ready, with my help, and telling me the whole story. It's "Mr. May and I are to do this,"—and "While I stand so, Captain Lancaster stands so." The last of all is a wedding.'