"If you don't go out at once I'll send for the police," said the elder
woman, sharply. "Prudence, scream!"

"I'm not going to scream," said Prudence, eyeing the intruder with great
composure. "I'm not afraid of him."

Despite her reluctance to have a scene--a thing which was strongly
opposed to the traditions of Bashford's Lane--Mrs. Truefitt had got as
far as the doorstep in search of assistance, when a sudden terrible
thought occurred to her: Fred was dead, and the visitor had hit upon this
extraordinary fashion of breaking the news gently.

"Come into the parlour," she said, faintly.

Mr. Catesby, suppressing his surprise, followed her into the room.
Prudence, her fine figure erect and her large eyes meeting his steadily,
took up a position by the side of her mother.

"You have brought bad news?" inquired the latter.

"No, mother," said Mr. Catesby, simply, "only myself, that's all."

Mrs. Truefitt made a gesture of impatience, and her daughter, watching
him closely, tried to remember something she had once read about
detecting insanity by the expression of the eyes. Those of Mr. Catesby
were blue, and the only expression in them at the present moment was one
of tender and respectful admiration.

"When did you see Fred last?" inquired Mrs. Truefitt, making another
effort.