"And what has Miss Chetwynd got to say?" Mrs. Baines inquired.
"She wasn't in."
Here was a blow for Mrs. Baines, whose suspicions about Sophia,
driven off by her certainties regarding Constance, suddenly sprang
forward in her mind, and prowled to and fro like a band of tigers.
Still, Mrs. Baines was determined to be calm and careful. "Oh!
What time did you call?"
"I don't know. About half-past four." Sophia finished her tea
quickly, and rose. "Shall I tell Mr. Povey he can come?"
(Mr. Povey had his tea after the ladies of the house.)
"Yes, if you will stay in the shop till I come. Light me the gas
before you go."
Sophia took a wax taper from a vase on the mantelpiece, stuck it
in the fire and lit the gas, which exploded in its crystal
cloister with a mild report.
"What's all that clay on your boots, child?" asked Mrs. Baines.
"Clay?" repeated Sophia, staring foolishly at her boots.
"Yes," said Mrs. Baines. "It looks like marl. Where on earth have
you been?"
She interrogated her daughter with an upward gaze, frigid and
unconsciously hostile, through her gold-rimmed glasses.
"I must have picked it up on the roads," said Sophia, and hastened
to the door.
Pages:
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220