His wife did not linger more than a minute behind him, and she sat in the drawing-room to await Miss Derrick’s return; Mumford kept apart in what was called the library.  To her credit, Emmeline tried hard to believe that she had learnt the whole truth; her mind, as she had justly declared, was not prone to ignoble imaginings; but acquitting her husband by no means involved an equal charity towards Louise.  Hitherto uncertain in her judgment, she had now the relief of an assurance that Miss Derrick was not at all a proper person to entertain as a guest, on whatever terms.  The incident of the railway station proved her to be utterly lacking in self-respect, in feminine modesty, even if her behaviour merited no darker description.  Emmeline could now face with confidence the scene from which she had shrunk; not only was it a duty to insist upon Miss Derrick’s departure, it would be a positive pleasure.

Louise very soon entered; she came into the room with her brightest look, and cried gaily: 

‘Oh, I hope I haven’t kept you waiting for me.  Are you alone?’

‘No.  I have been out.’

’Had you the storm here?  I’m not going to keep you talking; you look tired.’

‘I am rather,’ said Emmeline, with reserve.  She had no intention of allowing Louise to suspect the real cause of what she was about to say—­that would have seemed to her undignified; but she could not speak quite naturally.  ’Still, I should be glad if you would sit down for a minute.’

The girl took a chair and began to draw off her gloves.  She understood what was coming; it appeared in Emmeline’s face.

‘Something to say to me, Mrs. Mumford?’

’I hope you won’t think me unkind.  I feel obliged to ask you when you will be able to make new arrangements.’

‘You would like me to go soon?’ said Louise, inspecting her finger-nails, and speaking without irritation.

’I am sorry to say that I think it better you should leave us.  Forgive this plain speaking, Miss Derrick.  It’s always best to be perfectly straightforward, isn’t it?’

Whether she felt the force of this innuendo or not, Louise took it in good part.  As if the idea had only just struck her, she looked up cheerfully.

’You’re quite right, Mrs. Mumford.  I’m sure you’ve been very kind to me, and I’ve had a very pleasant time here, but it wouldn’t do for me to stay longer.  May I wait over to-morrow, just till Wednesday morning, to have an answer to a letter?’

’Certainly, if it is quite understood that there will be no delay beyond that.  There are circumstances—­private matters—­I don’t feel quite able to explain.  But I must be sure that you will have left us by Wednesday afternoon.’

’You may be sure of it.  I will write a line and post it to-night, for it to go as soon as possible.’