Miss Sibson cut the knot after her own fashion. “Well, I can’t take you in,” she said bluffly. “This gentleman,” pointing to Mr. Flixton, “will find quarters for you at the White Lion or the Bush. And your mistress will see you to-morrow. Thomas, bring in your young lady’s trunk. Good-night, sir,” she added, addressing the Honourable Bob. “Miss Vermuyden will be quite safe with me.” “Oh, but I say, Miss Sibson!” he remonstrated. “You can’t mean to take the moon out of the sky like this, and leave us in the dark? Miss Vermuyden——” “Good-night,” Mary said, not a whit placated by the compliment. And she slipped past Miss Sibson into the passage. “Oh, but it’s not safe, you know!” he cried. “You’re not a hundred yards from the Mansion House here. And if those beggars make trouble to-morrow—positively there’s no knowing what will happen!” “We can take care of ourselves, sir,” Miss Sibson replied curtly. “Good-night, sir!” And she shut the door in his face. The Honourable Bob glared at it for a time, but it remained closed and dark. There was nothing to be done save to go. “D——n the woman!” he cried. And he turned about. It was something of a shock to him to find the two servants still at his elbow, patiently regarding him. “Where are we to go, sir?” the maid asked, as stolid as before. “Go?” cried he, staring. “Go? Eh? What? What do you mean?” “Where are we to go, sir, for the night? If you’ll please to show us, sir. I’m a stranger here.” “Oh! This is too much!” the Honourable Bob cried, finding himself on a sudden a family man. “Go? I don’t care if you go to——” But there he paused. He put the temptation to tell them to go to blazes from him. After all, they were Mary’s servants. “Oh, very well! Very well!” he resumed, fuming. “There, get in! Get in!” indicating the hackney-coach. “And do you,” he continued, turning to Thomas, “tell him to drive to the White Lion. Was there ever? That old woman’s a neat artist, if ever I saw one!” And a moment later Flixton trundled off, boxed in with the mature maid, and vowing to himself that in all his life he had never been so diddled before. Meanwhile, within doors—for farce and tragedy are never far apart—Mary, with her furs loosened, but not removed, was resisting all Miss Sibson’s efforts to restrain her. “I must go to her!” she said with painful persistence. “I must go to her at once, if you please, Miss Sibson. Where is she?” “She is not here,” Miss Sibson said, plump and plain. “Not here!” Mary cried, springing from the chair into which Miss Sibson had compelled her. “Not here!” “No. Not in this house.” “Then why—why did she tell me to come here?” Mary cried dumbfounded.