"Really, Miss Banks, it is," Jervaise implored, risking his delicate face
again.

She hesitated a moment and then said, "Very well," and disappeared, taking
this time the dissipated candle with her. I heard her address a minatory
remark within the room to "Racket"--most excellently described, I thought;
though I discovered later that I had, in imagination, misspelt him, since
he owed his name to the fact that his mother had sought her delivery on
the bed of a stored tennis-net.

Jervaise and I hurried back to the front door as if we were afraid that
Miss Banks might get there first; but she kept us waiting for something
like ten minutes before she came downstairs. The silence of that interval
was only broken by such nervous staccato comments as "Long time!"
"Dressing, presumably," and occasional throaty sounds of impatience from
Jervaise that are beyond the representative scope of typography. I have
heard much the same noises proceed from the throat of an unhopeful pig
engaged in some minor investigation.

The rain was falling less heavily, and towards the west a pale blur of
light was slowly melting its way through the darkness. I noted that spot
as marking the probable position of the setting moon. I decided that as
soon as this infernal inquisition was over, I would get rid of Jervaise
and find some God-given place in which I might wait for the dawn. I knew
that there must be any number of such places between the Farm and the
Hall. I was peering westward towards the rolling obscurity of hills and
woods that were just beginning to bulk out of the gloom, when I heard the
click of the door latch.