"God knows! There it is. It's his horrid hour--it _was_ that other time."
She had nervously turned to the others, overflowing to them, in her dismay,
for all their strangeness--quite, as he said to himself, like a woman of
the people. She was the bareheaded good wife talking in the street about
the row in the house, and it was in this character that he instantly
introduced her: "My dear doubting wife, who will do her best to entertain
you while I wait upon our friend." And he explained to her as he could his
now protesting companions--"Mr. and Mrs. Hayes of New York, who have been
here before." He knew, without knowing why, that her announcement chilled
him; he failed at least to see why it should chill him so much. His good
friends had themselves been visibly affected by it, and heaven knew that
the depths of brooding fancy in him were easily stirred by contact. If they
had wanted a crisis they accordingly had found one, albeit they had already
asked leave to retire before it. This he wouldn't have. "Ah no, you must
really see!"
"But we shan't be able to bear it, you know," said the young woman, "if it
_is_ to turn you out."
Her crudity attested her sincerity, and it was the latter, doubtless, that
instantly held Mrs. Gedge. "It _is_ to turn us out."
"Has he told you that, madam?" Mr. Hayes inquired of her--it being wondrous
how the breath of doom had drawn them together.
"No, not told me; but there's something in him there--I mean in his awful
manner--that matches too well with other things. We've seen," said the poor
pale lady, "other things enough."