CHAPTER XX. "I must tell you," she was saying. I stole away and walked to the railway station. ” “Why not?” “You see, if I do go home my father objects to the College, and as for typing —” “Don’t go home. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. Did he see him, this Monsieur Charvill?’ ‘I don’t rightly know, miss,’ confessed Kimble. Passing thought.
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