eyes of his mother until a fit moment should arrive for its disclosure.
But he imagined, I believe, that Annie saw he wanted to speak to her,
and thought she was doing what she could to balk his intention.

But the necessity for disclosure was strongest in Annie, and drove her
to encounter what risk might be involved. So when at last she heard a
certain step of the stair creak, she darted to the door, and left the
room even while the hand of her mistress, coming to say the coffee was
ready, was on that which communicated with the drawing room.

"I thought I heard Annie at the sideboard: is she gone?" she said.

"She left the room this moment, I believe," answered Hector.

"What is she gone for?"

"I cannot say, mother," replied Hector indifferently, in the act himself
of leaving the room also, determined on yet another attempt to speak to
Annie. In the meantime, however, Annie had found her opportunity. She
had met Mr. Macintosh halfway down the last flight of stairs, and had
lifted to him such a face of entreaty that he listened at once to her
prayer for a private interview, and, turning, led the way up again to
the room he had just left. There he shut the door, and said to her
pleasantly:

"Well, Annie, what is it?"

I am afraid his man-imagination had led him to anticipate some complaint
against Hector: he certainly was nowise prepared for what the poor
self-accusing girl had to say.