“It may have been her husband,” she thought, and trembled.  The curtains up in the drawing-room were moved as by a hand; but where was Dahlia’s face?  Dahlia knew that they were coming, and she was not on the look-out for them!—­a strange conflict of facts, over which Rhoda knitted her black brows, so that she looked menacing to the maid opening the door, whose “Oh, if you please, Miss,” came in contact with “My sister—­Mrs.—­, she expects me.  I mean, Mrs.—­” but no other name than “Dahlia” would fit itself to Rhoda’s mouth.

“Ayrton,” said the maid, and recommenced, “Oh, if you please, Miss, and you are the young lady, Mrs. Ayrton is very sorry, and have left word, would you call again to-morrow, as she have made a pressing appointment, and was sure you would excuse her, but her husband was very anxious for her to go, and could not put it off, and was very sorry, but would you call again to-morrow at twelve o’clock? and punctually she would be here.”

The maid smiled as one who had fairly accomplished the recital of her lesson.  Rhoda was stunned.

“Is Mrs. Ayrton at home?—­Not at home?” she said.

“No:  don’t ye hear?” quoth the farmer, sternly.

“She had my letter—­do you know?” Rhoda appealed to the maid.

“Oh, yes, Miss.  A letter from the country.”

“This morning?”

“Yes, Miss; this morning.”

“And she has gone out?  What time did she go out?  When will she be in?”

Her father plucked at her dress.  “Best not go making the young woman repeat herself.  She says, nobody’s at home to ask us in.  There’s no more, then, to trouble her for.”

“At twelve o’clock to-morrow?” Rhoda faltered.

“Would you, if you please, call again at twelve o’clock to-morrow, and punctually she would be here,” said the maid.

The farmer hung his head and turned.  Rhoda followed him from the garden.  She was immediately plied with queries and interjections of wonderment by Miss Wicklow, and it was not until she said:  “You saw him go out, didn’t you?—­into the cab?” that Rhoda awakened to a meaning in her gabble.

Was it Dahlia’s husband whom they had seen?  And if so, why was Dahlia away from her husband?  She questioned in her heart, but not for an answer, for she allowed no suspicions to live.  The farmer led on with his plodding country step, burdened shoulders, and ruddy-fowled, serious face, not speaking to Rhoda, who had no desire to hear a word from him, and let him be.  Mary Ann steered him and called from behind the turnings he was to take, while she speculated aloud to Rhoda upon the nature of the business that had torn Dahlia from the house so inopportunely.  At last she announced that she knew what it was, but Rhoda failed to express curiosity.  Mary Ann was driven to whisper something about strange things in the way of purchases.  At that moment the farmer threw up his umbrella, shouting for a cab, and Rhoda ran up to him,—­