"I saw her outside, sir—rapping at the door here, with her parasol." That was the servant's report.
Her parasol? Not being acquainted with the development of dress among female servants in England, I asked if she was a lady. There seemed to be no doubt of it in the man's mind. She was also, as Gloody supposed, a person whom he had never seen before.
"How is it you are not sure of that?" I said.
"Well, sir, she was waiting to be let in; and I was behind her, coming out of the wood."
"Who let her in?"
"Miss Cristel." His face brightened with an expression of interest when he mentioned the miller's daughter. He went on with his story without wanting questions to help him. "Miss Cristel looked like a person surprised at seeing a stranger—what I should call a free and easy stranger. She walked in, sir, as if the place belonged to her."
I am not suspicious by nature, as I hope and believe. But I began to be reminded of Lady Rachel already.
"Did you notice the lady's dress?" I asked.
A woman who had seen her would have been able to describe every morsel of her dress from head to foot. The man had only observed her hat; and all he could say was that he thought it "a smartish one."
"Any particular color?" I went on.