CHAPTER VII

While I was in this bewildered frame of mind, sorely needing a little quiet time by myself to put me right again, my daughter Penelope got in my way (just as her late mother used to get in my way on the stairs), and instantly summoned me to tell her all that had passed at the conference between Mr. Franklin and me.  Under present circumstances, the one thing to be done was to clap the extinguisher upon Penelope’s curiosity on the spot.  I accordingly replied that Mr. Franklin and I had both talked of foreign politics, till we could talk no longer, and had then mutually fallen asleep in the heat of the sun.  Try that sort of answer when your wife or your daughter next worries you with an awkward question at an awkward time, and depend on the natural sweetness of women for kissing and making it up again at the next opportunity.

The afternoon wore on, and my lady and Miss Rachel came back.

Needless to say how astonished they were, when they heard that Mr. Franklin Blake had arrived, and had gone off again on horseback.  Needless also to say, that they asked awkward questions directly, and that the “foreign politics” and the “falling asleep in the sun” wouldn’t serve a second time over with them.  Being at the end of my invention, I said Mr. Franklin’s arrival by the early train was entirely attributable to one of Mr. Franklin’s freaks.  Being asked, upon that, whether his galloping off again on horseback was another of Mr. Franklin’s freaks, I said, “Yes, it was;” and slipped out of it—­I think very cleverly—­in that way.

Having got over my difficulties with the ladies, I found more difficulties waiting for me when I went back to my own room.  In came Penelope—­with the natural sweetness of women—­to kiss and make it up again; and—­with the natural curiosity of women—­to ask another question.  This time she only wanted me to tell her what was the matter with our second housemaid, Rosanna Spearman.

After leaving Mr. Franklin and me at the Shivering Sand, Rosanna, it appeared, had returned to the house in a very unaccountable state of mind.  She had turned (if Penelope was to be believed) all the colours of the rainbow.  She had been merry without reason, and sad without reason.  In one breath she asked hundreds of questions about Mr. Franklin Blake, and in another breath she had been angry with Penelope for presuming to suppose that a strange gentleman could possess any interest for her.  She had been surprised, smiling, and scribbling Mr. Franklin’s name inside her workbox.  She had been surprised again, crying and looking at her deformed shoulder in the glass.  Had she and Mr. Franklin known anything of each other before to-day?  Quite impossible!  Had they heard anything of each other?  Impossible again!  I could speak to Mr. Franklin’s astonishment as genuine, when he saw how the girl stared at him.  Penelope could speak to the girl’s inquisitiveness as genuine, when she asked questions about Mr. Franklin.  The conference between us, conducted in this way, was tiresome enough, until my daughter suddenly ended it by bursting out with what I thought the most monstrous supposition I had ever heard in my life.