"I wanted Morris," said Thelma quickly.
"He thought it was the drawing-room bell," responded Britta meekly, for her "Fröken" looked very angry. "I saw him in the hall just now, letting out Sir Francis Lennox."
"Has he gone?" demanded Thelma eagerly.
Britta's wonder increased. "Yes, Fröken!"
Thelma caught her arm. "Tell Morris never, never to let him inside the house again--never!" and her blue eyes flashed wrathfully. "He is a wicked man, Britta! You do not know how wicked he is!"
"Oh yes, I do!" and Britta regarded her mistress very steadfastly. "I know quite well! But, then, I must not speak! If I dared, I could tell you some strange things, dear Fröken--but you will not hear me. You know you do not wish me to talk about your grand new friends, Fröken, but--" she paused timidly.
"Oh, Britta, dear!" said Thelma affectionately taking her hand. "You know they are not so much my friends as the friends of Sir Philip,--and for this reason I must never listen to anything against them. Do you not see? Of course their ways seem strange to us--but, then, life in London is so different to life in Norway,--and we cannot all at once understand--" she broke off, sighing a little. Then she resumed--"Now you will give Morris my message, Britta--and then come to me in my bedroom--I am tired, and Philip said I was not to wait up for him."
Britta departed, and Thelma went rather slowly up-stairs. It was now nearly midnight, and she felt languid and weary. Her reflections began to take a new turn. Suppose she told her husband all that had occurred, he would most certainly go to Sir Francis and punish him in some way--there might then be a quarrel in which Philip might suffer--and all sorts of evil consequences would perhaps result from her want of reticence. If, on the other hand, she said nothing, and simply refused to receive Lennox, would not her husband think such conduct on her part strange? She puzzled over these questions till her head ached--and finally resolved to keep her own counsel for the present,--after what had happened. Sir Francis would most probably not intrude himself again into her presence. "I will ask Mrs. Lorimer what is best to do," she thought. "She is old and wise, and she will know."
That night, as she laid her head on her pillow, and Britta threw the warm eidredon over her, she shivered a little and asked-"Is it not very cold, Britta?"