What were the orders? There began to dawn on the master-at-arms, from various things he had noticed in Miss Inglefield’s conversation and manner, a suspicion that she had had no previous intimation of the communication he was about to impart. This was a point which had not been touched upon by Mr. Keegan. He was in a quandary. To withdraw now might injure Mr. Pennington’s honour, and, besides, make things exceedingly unpleasant for him, the master-at-arms. But if Mr. Keegan had by any chance made a mistake, to go on would involve Mr. Pennington in a difficulty the gravity of which the master-at-arms had not before considered. But his faith in Mr. Keegan, and the fear of his displeasure, finally predominated.
“You see, miss,” he began, “the reason I come up here, and not Dennis, was this: I happen to be acquainted with the seenora as does the cookin’ for you, and Dennis he said for me to tell this here to the seenora, and the seenora—”
“Has Mr. Pennington sent a note?” Miss Inglefield broke in, in despair.
“A note!” the master-at-arms repeated deprecatingly; “he never insulted me or Dennis with a note yet, miss.”
“Please go on, then, quickly,” she said; “I may be called at any minute.”
“There ain’t nothin’ to it exceptin’ this, miss,” he began, in no wise to be hurried, however: “Mr. Pennington’s time’s up on the ship to-day, and he has bought tickets for two”—the master-at-arms thought the inference a very happy one, and emphasised the numeral—“on the steamer what leaves to-night. Then he goes to Dennis Keegan, who’s been on many a cruise with him in’s younger days, and in many a tight place, too, and he says, ‘Keegan, there’s a young lady what lives up here on the hill behind Funchal—’ ‘What you’d like to take off with you this evenin’, Mr. Pennington,’ Dennis puts in, ‘but there be cert’in reasons again’ your goin’ up and gettin’ her yourself.’ Mr. Pennington looked sorter surprised, but, Lord! miss, he ought to know there ain’t much goin’ on what Dennis ain’t on to. ‘Well, sir,’ Dennis went on, without givin’ him a show to speak, ‘all you got to do is to leave this here business to me and Chimmy’—that’s me, miss,—‘and if that there young lady ain’t ready to go with you at whatever time you say, it won’t be our fault, sir.’”
The master-at-arms paused, and wiped the perspiration from his face with his red handkerchief, watching Miss Inglefield anxiously the while. She had sat quietly by during this recital, but he could see that she was agitated now by her breathing, which came and went quickly, and his confidence in Mr. Keegan’s judgment redoubled. Evidently, if the young lady in the case was as much in love as she appeared from these symptoms, the course he was taking was most justifiable. The master-at-arms had always deemed a little prevarication in a good cause no harm. There was, apparently, quite a mental struggle going on within Miss Inglefield. Once or twice she seemed about to speak, and then to change her mind. It was at this point that a hearty masculine voice was heard calling loudly from the garden above:—
“Eleanor!”
Miss Inglefield rose.
“Coming, papa,” she answered; but to the astonishment of the master-at-arms, she did not betray the slightest alarm. She walked slowly toward the step, her head bent downward in thought; then she suddenly drew herself up to the full height of her commanding figure, and faced him.