Is there any excuse
for me, in that? I hope there is--I am afraid it is the only excuse I
have. When to-morrow comes, and he knows that I am in the house, do you
think----"
She stopped again, and looked at me very earnestly.
"When to-morrow comes," I said, "I think you have only to tell him what
you have just told me."
Her face brightened; she came a step nearer to me. Her fingers trifled
nervously with a flower which I had picked in the garden, and which I
had put into the button-hole of my coat.
"You have seen a great deal of him lately," she said. "Have you, really
and truly, seen THAT?"
"Really and truly," I answered. "I am quite certain of what will happen
to-morrow. I wish I could feel as certain of what will happen to-night."
At that point in the conversation, we were interrupted by the appearance
of Betteredge with the tea-tray. He gave me another significant look as
he passed on into the sitting-room. "Aye! aye! make your hay while the
sun shines. The Tartar's upstairs, Mr. Jennings--the Tartar's upstairs!"
We followed him into the room. A little old lady, in a corner,
very nicely dressed, and very deeply absorbed over a smart piece of
embroidery, dropped her work in her lap, and uttered a faint little
scream at the first sight of my gipsy complexion and my piebald hair.
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