“I’m sure I don’t know about that,” Mrs. Broome interrupted him shamelessly. “All I know is that if Sir Anthony is a proper father, as I’m sure he is or he wouldn’t be fussing so, he couldn’t care for his daughter to go home through a neighbourhood like this at night. I’m an old woman and I’m nothing to look at”—she seemed a little hurt to hear no cries of protest and her tone became a trifle sharper—“but even I had quite a little run for it outside here tonight. There are a lot of dark shadows and people coming out of dark corners where there aren’t any lampposts and pushing against one and whispering things.”
“What things? You silly woman, what are you talking about?” Eustace was testy and exasperated. “You do talk a lot of rubbish!”
“Ah, but I make you all very comfortable. There’s a
