“Young woman—­I believe you are the young woman who this afternoon told me that Mr. Leaf was out.  It was a fib, of course.”

Elizabeth turned round indignantly.  “No, Sir; I don’t tell fibs.  He was out.”

“Did you give him my message when he came in?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And what did he say, oh?”

“Nothing.”

This was the literal fact; but there was something behind which Elizabeth had not the slightest intention of communicating.  In fact, she set herself, physically and mentally, in an attitude of dogged resistance to any pumping of Mr. Ascott:  for though, as she had truly said, nothing special had happened, she felt sure that he was at the bottom of something which had gone wrong in the household that afternoon.

It was this.  When Ascott returned, and she told him of his godfather’s visit, the young man had suddenly turned so ghastly pale that she had to fetch him a glass of water; and his Aunt Johanna—­Miss Selina was out—­had to tend him and soothe him for several minutes before he was right again.  When at last he seemed returning to his natural self, he looked wildly up at his aunt, and clung to her in such an outburst of feeling, that Elizabeth had thought it best to slip out of the room.  It was tea time, but still she waited outside for a half hour or longer, when she gently knocked, and after a minute or two Miss Leaf came out.  There seemed nothing wrong, at least not much—­not more than Elizabeth had noticed many and many a time after talks between Ascott and his aunts.

“I’ll take the tea in myself,” she said; “for I want you to start at once for Kensington to fetch Miss Hilary.  Don’t frighten her—­mind that Elizabeth.  Say I am much as usual myself; but that Mr. Leaf is not quite well, and I think she might do him good.  Remember the exact words.”

Elizabeth did, and would have delivered them accurately, it Mr. Ascott had not been present, and addressed her in that authoritative manner.  Now, she resolutely held her tongue.

Mr. Ascott might in his time have been accustomed to cringing, frightened, or impertinent servants, but this was a phase of the species with which he was totally unfamiliar.  The girl was neither sullen nor rude, yet evidently quite independent; afraid neither of her mistress, nor of himself.  He was sharp enough to see that whatever he wanted to get out of Elizabeth must be got in another way.

“Come, my wench, you’d better tell; it’ll be none the worse for you, and it shan’t harm the young fellow, though I dare say he has paid you well for holding your tongue.”

“About what, sir?”

“Oh! you know what happened when you told him I had called, eh?  Servants get to know all about their master’s affairs.”

“Mr. Leaf isn’t my master, and his affairs are nothing to me; I don’t pry into ’em,” replied Elizabeth.  “If you want to know any thing, Sir, hadn’t you better ask himself!  He’s at home to-night.  I left him and my missus going to their tea.”