‘O no.’
‘Why did you say “the idea”?’
‘Leave that alone. Did he ever visit in Gower Street, Bloomsbury, one Christmas, many years ago?—but you would not know that.’
‘I have heard him say that Mr. Huntway, a curate somewhere in that part of London, and who died there, was an old college friend of his.’
‘What is your Christian name?’
‘Cytherea.’
‘No! And is it really? And you knew that face I showed you? Yes, I see you did.’ Miss Aldclyffe stopped, and closed her lips impassibly. She was a little agitated.
‘Do you want me any longer?’ said Cytherea, standing candle in hand and looking quietly in Miss Aldclyffe’s face.
‘Well—no: no longer,’ said the other lingeringly.
‘With your permission, I will leave the house to morrow morning, madam.’