Besides, even if I had made a clean breast of it, and even supposing
she was the thief, the reason why she should let out her secret to Mr.
Franklin, of all the people in the world, would have been still as far
to seek as ever.

"I can't bear the idea of getting the poor girl into a scrape, merely
because she has a flighty way with her, and talks very strangely," Mr.
Franklin went on. "And yet if she had said to, the Superintendent what
she said to me, fool as he is, I'm afraid----" He stopped there, and
left the rest unspoken.

"The best way, sir," I said, "will be for me to say two words privately
to my mistress about it at the first opportunity. My lady has a very
friendly interest in Rosanna; and the girl may only have been forward
and foolish, after all. When there's a mess of any kind in a house, sir,
the women-servants like to look at the gloomy side--it gives the poor
wretches a kind of importance in their own eyes. If there's anybody
ill, trust the women for prophesying that the person will die. If it's
a jewel lost, trust them for prophesying that it will never be found
again."

This view (which I am bound to say, I thought a probable view myself,
on reflection) seemed to relieve Mr. Franklin mightily: he folded up his
telegram, and dismissed the subject. On my way to the stables, to order
the pony-chaise, I looked in at the servants' hall, where they were at
dinner. Rosanna Spearman was not among them. On inquiry, I found that
she had been suddenly taken ill, and had gone up-stairs to her own room
to lie down.

"Curious! She looked well enough when I saw her last," I remarked.

Penelope followed me out. "Don't talk in that way before the rest of
them, father," she said. "You only make them harder on Rosanna than
ever. The poor thing is breaking her heart about Mr. Franklin Blake."

Here was another view of the girl's conduct. If it was possible for
Penelope to be right, the explanation of Rosanna's strange language and
behaviour might have been all in this--that she didn't care what she
said, so long as she could surprise Mr. Franklin into speaking to her.
Granting that to be the right reading of the riddle, it accounted,
perhaps, for her flighty, self-conceited manner when she passed me in
the hall. Though he had only said three words, still she had carried her
point, and Mr. Franklin had spoken to her.

I saw the pony harnessed myself. In the infernal network of mysteries
and uncertainties that no