"'Ere y'are, miss," he murmured soothingly down the trap. "Shall I
wait?"
CHAPTER TWELVE
The house was an old one with a broad, low front door and shallow,
much-worn oak stairs. In answer to Brigit's knock a Gamp-like person
with a hare-lip appeared, and informing her curtly that Mr. Joyselle had
come in only a few minutes before, added that she might go up--"To the
top, miss, an' there's only one door when you've got up."
Brigit almost ran up the four flights, and then, when opposite the door,
sat down on the top step and hid her face in her hands.
What should she say? Why had she come? Would he be glad to see her--or
shocked? Worse still, would he accept her coming as an act of filial
devotion?
No. That she would not allow.
Her mind, boiling, as it were, with a thousand ingredients, she could
hardly be said to be thinking. Realising perfectly that she had behaved
outrageously, sincerely ashamed of herself and full of remorse, yet her
own position and her own welfare had never for a second ceased to be her
chief concern. Suffering was of a certainty in store for some of the
actors in the drama, but she held the centre of the stage and meant to
avoid as much pain as possible.
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