“And how did this happen?” eagerly inquired Miss Ingate, at last, pointing to the bandaged arm.

Nick’s face showed discomfort.

“Please don’t let us talk about that,” said Nick.  “It was a policeman.  I don’t think he meant it.  I had chained myself to the railings of St. Margaret’s Church.”

Susan Foley put in laconically: 

“She’s not to be worried.  I hope ye’ll stay for tea.  We shall have tea at five sharp.  Janey’ll be in.”

“Can’t they sleep here, Susan?” Nick whimpered.

“Of course they can, and welcome,” said Susan.  “There’s more empty beds in this barracks than they could sleep in if they slept all day and all night.”

“But we’re staying at an hotel.  We can’t possibly put you to all this trouble,” Audrey protested.

“No trouble.  It’s my business.  It’s what I’m here for,” said Susan Foley.  “I’d sooner have it than mill work any day o’ the week.”

“You’re just going to be very mean if you don’t stay here,” Nick faltered.  Tears stood in her eyes again.  “You don’t know how I feel.”  She murmured something about Betty Burke’s doings.

“We will stay!  We will stay!” Miss Ingate agreed hastily.  And, unperceived by Nick, she gave Audrey a glance in which irony and tenderness were mingled.  It was as if she had whispered, “The nerves of this angel have all gone to pieces.  We must humour the little sentimental simpleton.”

CHAPTER XXI

JANE

“We’ve begun, ye see,” said Susan Foley.

It was two minutes past five, and Miss Ingate and Audrey, followed by Nick with her slung arm, entered the sheeted living-room.  Tremendous feats had been performed.  All the Moncreiff and Ingate luggage, less than two hours earlier lying at the Charing Cross Hotel, was now in two adjoining rooms on the third floor of the great house in Paget Gardens.  Drivers and loiterers had assisted, under the strict and taciturn control of Susan Foley.  Also Nick, Miss Ingate, and Audrey had had a most intimate conversation, and the two latter had changed their attire to suit the station of campers in a palace.

“It’s lovely to be quite free and independent,” Audrey had said, and the statement had been acclaimed.

Jane Foley was seated opposite her sister at the small table plainly set for five.  She rose vivaciously, and came forward with outstretched hand.  She wore a blue skirt and a white blouse and brown boots.  She was twenty-eight, but her rather small proportions and her plentiful golden, fluffy hair made her seem about twenty.  Her face was less homely than Susan’s, and more mobile.  She smiled somewhat shyly, with an extraordinary radiant cheerfulness.  It was impossible for her to conceal the fact that she was very good-natured and very happy.  Finally, she limped.

“Susan will have the meals prompt,” she said, as they all sat down.  “And as Susan left home on purpose to look after me, of course she’s the mistress.  As far as that goes, she always was.”