Mr. Chalk looked and uttered a little cry of astonishment.
"I suppose she wants to see one of the servants," he said, at last; "but why doesn't she go round to the side entrance? I shall have to speak to them about it."
Mrs. Chalk drew herself up and eyed him with superb disdain.
"Go down and speak to her," she commanded. "Certainly not," said Mr. Chalk, braving her, although his voice trembled.
"Why not?"
"Because if I did you would ask me what she said, and when I told you you wouldn't believe me," said Mr. Chalk.
"You—you decline to go down?" said his wife, in a voice shaking with emotion.
"I do," said Mr. Chalk, firmly. "Why don't you go yourself?"
Mrs. Chalk eyed him for a moment in scornful silence, and then stepped to the window and sailed majestically down the garden. Mr. Chalk watched her, with parted lips, and then he began to breathe more freely as the whistle ceased and the head suddenly disappeared. Still a little nervous, he watched his wife to the end of the garden and saw her crane her head over the fence. By the time she returned he was sitting in an attitude of careless ease, with his back to the window.
"Well?" he said, with assurance.