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Page 68
Maud, meanwhile, had rung the bell. Ever since, looking over her
shoulder, she had perceived her brother Percy dodging about in the
background, her active young mind had been busying itself with
schemes for throwing him off the trail. She must see George that
morning. She could not wait another day before establishing
communication between herself and Geoffrey. But it was not till she
reached Little Weeting that there occurred to her any plan that
promised success.
A trim maid opened the door.
"Is the vicar in?"
"No, miss. He went out half an hour back."
Maud was as baffled for the moment as her brother Percy, now
leaning against the vicarage wall in a state of advanced
exhaustion.
"Oh, dear!" she said.
The maid was sympathetic.
"Mr. Ferguson, the curate, miss, he's here, if he would do."
Maud brightened.
"He would do splendidly. Will you ask him if I can see him for a
moment?"
"Very well, miss. What name, please?"
"He won't know my name. Will you please tell him that a lady wishes
to see him?"
"Yes, miss. Won't you step in?"
The front door closed behind Maud. She followed the maid into the
drawing-room. Presently a young small curate entered. He had a
willing, benevolent face. He looked alert and helpful.
"You wished to see me?"
"I am so sorry to trouble you," said Maud, rocking the young man in
his tracks with a smile of dazzling brilliancy--("No trouble, I
assure you," said the curate dizzily)--"but there is a man following
me!"
The curate clicked his tongue indignantly.
"A rough sort of a tramp kind of man. He has been following me for
miles, and I'm frightened."
"Brute!"
"I think he's outside now. I can't think what he wants. Would
you--would you mind being kind enough to go and send him away?"
The eyes that had settled George's fate for all eternity flashed
upon the curate, who blinked. He squared his shoulders and drew
himself up. He was perfectly willing to die for her.
"If you will wait here," he said, "I will go and send him about his
business. It is disgraceful that the public highways should be
rendered unsafe in this manner."
"Thank you ever so much," said Maud gratefully. "I can't help
thinking the poor fellow may be a little crazy. It seems so odd of
him to follow me all that way. Walking in the ditch too!"
"Walking in the ditch!"
"Yes. He walked most of the way in the ditch at the side of the
road. He seemed to prefer it. I can't think why."
Lord Belpher, leaning against the wall and trying to decide whether
his right or left foot hurt him the more excruciatingly, became
aware that a curate was standing before him, regarding him through
a pair of gold-rimmed pince-nez with a disapproving and hostile
expression. Lord Belpher returned his gaze. Neither was favourably
impressed by the other. Percy thought he had seen nicer-looking
curates, and the curate thought he had seen more prepossessing
tramps.
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