The Squire accordingly emerged. In the hall he found his three
daughters engaged in lighting their candles at the Chippendale
table, where for about a hundred and fifty years the ladies of
Mannering had been accustomed to perform that rite.
The master of the house inquired coldly whether Miss Bremerton had
returned safely. 'Oh yes,' said his daughter Margaret, 'but she went
up to bed at once. She hasn't got rid of her headache.'
Mrs. Strang's stiff manner, and the silence of the others showed the
Squire that he was deep in his daughters' black books. Was he also
charged with Miss Bremerton's headache? Did any of them guess what
had happened? He fancied from the puzzled look in Pamela's eyes as
she said good-night to him that she guessed something.
Well, he wasn't going to tell them anything. He went back to the
library, and presently Pamela, in her room upstairs, heard first the
library bell, then the steps of Forest crossing the hall, and
finally a conversation between the Squire and the butler which
seemed to last some time.
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