“Robert Leonard Yorke,” said Grace. The familiar dear name almost overcame her courage, but she held herself up by main force with her hands clasped. “There is nobody better known where we come from--Robert Leonard Yorke, of Quebec----”
“My dear young lady,” said Miss Anna--and she sank back in her chair with a certain relief--a relaxation of the strain with which she had kept herself up to be ready for any emergency, which was not lost upon her nephew at least--“you have made some mistake. I never heard the name in my life. I never knew any one, or, to my knowledge, saw any one of that name.”
“A fortnight ago, on Tuesday: and it rained very much in the evening,” Grace said eagerly. “He told us he could not get a cab, it was so far out of town; and he got very wet.”
“He caught cold--and it was that--it was that----” Milly added her contribution to what her sister said: but her voice broke, and she could not conclude her sentence.
Miss Anna sat and looked on politely attentive, but at the same time ostentatiously indifferent. “It is very sad,” she said. “It is impossible to tell you how sorry I am; but I never heard of Mr Yorke in my life. Geoffrey, that is true, it is very difficult to get a cab; go and look for one. I cannot permit these young ladies to wander away alone in a strange place. Go, Geoff, go!”
She was very anxious to be rid of him; her voice took the imperious tone, which he had obeyed so often, but he did not seem disposed to obey now.
“A fortnight ago,” he said, “on a dark afternoon, turning to rain?”
“Yes, yes! you remember--oh, do you remember?--and afterwards we saw you at the hotel.” The two girls spoke both together, one saying the former part, the other the latter of the sentence, both turning upon him with the most anxious eyes, gazing, trying to penetrate into his inmost soul.
“Geoff, why do you stand there?” cried Miss Anna. She, too, became energetic, and more and more imperious. “Go, I tell you, and get a cab for them. Two strangers, and far from where they are living. You know what your mother will think of such visitors. Go, directly, as I tell you.” She stamped as she spoke, first her stick and then her foot, impatiently on the floor.
“This cannot be settled so summarily,” said Geoffrey; “there is more in it. It is not necessary that we should stay in your room, Aunt Anna, if you dislike it; but I wish these ladies to remain till my mother sees them----”