Poor David really had nothing to say. His face was enough to convict him. It wore an expression of bewilderment, very like that of a person who was wondering how it could have been found out, and not at all the injured surprise of an innocent party.
“Well, sir; well,” said May.
No reply.
“Can’t you explain this” (hesitating for a mild word) “mistake?” asked Mrs. Bentley.
David sighed hopelessly.
“I can’t say any more than I have, Mrs. Bentley. There was no lady there! Miss May was mista—deluded in some strange way.”
Mrs. Bentley rose in stately fashion.
“I fear she was, Mr. Dewness! Good-evening, Mr. Dewness! Come, daughter!”
The pair went into the house, leaving poor David staring after them, and twirling his cap in his hands. After they had quite disappeared, he remarked, softly and solemnly to himself:
“The dickens!”