“She’s with _her?_”
“She’s with _her!_” I declared. “We must find them.”
My hand was on my friend’s arm, but she failed for the moment,
confronted with such an account of the matter, to respond to my
pressure. She communed, on the contrary, on the spot, with her
uneasiness. “And where’s Master Miles?”
“Oh, _he’s_ with Quint. They’re in the schoolroom.”
“Lord, miss!” My view, I was myself aware—and therefore I suppose my
tone—had never yet reached so calm an assurance.
“The trick’s played,” I went on; “they’ve successfully worked their
plan. He found the most divine little way to keep me quiet while she
went off.”
“‘Divine’?” Mrs. Grose bewilderedly echoed.
“Infernal, then!” I almost cheerfully rejoined. “He has provided for
himself as well. But come!”
She had helplessly gloomed at the upper regions. “You leave him—?”
“So long with Quint? Yes—I don’t mind that now.”
She always ended, at these moments, by getting possession of my hand,
and in this manner she could at present still stay me. But after
gasping an instant at my sudden resignation, “Because of your letter?”
she eagerly brought out.
I quickly, by way of answer, felt for my letter, drew it forth, held it
up, and then, freeing myself, went and laid it on the great hall table.
“Luke will take it,” I said as I came back. I reached the house door
and opened it; I was already on the steps.
My companion still demurred: the storm of the night and the early
morning had dropped, but the afternoon was damp and gray. I came down
to the drive while she stood in the doorway. “You go with nothing on?”
“What do I care when the child has nothing? I can’t wait to dress,” I
cried, “and if you must do so, I leave you. Try meanwhile, yourself,
upstairs.”
“With _them?_” Oh, on this, the poor woman promptly joined me!