"Go out," said Mrs. Truefitt, recovering; "go out at once."
Mr. Catesby looked from one to the other in consternation.
"I know I've altered," he said, at last, "but I'd no idea—"
"If you don't go out at once I'll send for the police," said the elder woman, sharply. "Prudence, scream!"
"I'm not going to scream," said Prudence, eyeing the intruder with great composure. "I'm not afraid of him."
Despite her reluctance to have a scene—a thing which was strongly opposed to the traditions of Bashford's Lane—Mrs. Truefitt had got as far as the doorstep in search of assistance, when a sudden terrible thought occurred to her: Fred was dead, and the visitor had hit upon this extraordinary fashion of breaking the news gently.
"Come into the parlour," she said, faintly.
Mr. Catesby, suppressing his surprise, followed her into the room. Prudence, her fine figure erect and her large eyes meeting his steadily, took up a position by the side of her mother.
"You have brought bad news?" inquired the latter.
"No, mother," said Mr. Catesby, simply, "only myself, that's all."