ch
a question to me as that? I stared at him, instead of answering him.

"I saw Rosanna Spearman hiding in the shrubbery as we went by," said the
Sergeant.

"When you said 'Hullo'?"

"Yes--when I said 'Hullo!' If there's a sweetheart in the case, the
hiding doesn't much matter. If there isn't--as things are in this
house--the hiding is a highly suspicious circumstance, and it will be my
painful duty to act on it accordingly."

What, in God's name, was I to say to him? I knew the shrubbery was Mr.
Franklin's favourite walk; I knew he would most likely turn that way
when he came back from the station; I knew that Penelope had over and
over again caught her fellow-servant hanging about there, and had always
declared to me that Rosanna's object was to attract Mr. Franklin's
attention. If my daughter was right, she might well have been lying in
wait for Mr. Franklin's return when the Sergeant noticed her. I was put
between the two difficulties of mentioning Penelope's fanciful notion
as if it was mine, or of leaving an unfortunate creature to suffer the
consequences, the very serious consequences, of exciting the suspicion
of Sergeant Cuff. Out of pure pity for the girl--on my soul and my
character, out of pure pity for the girl--I gave the Sergeant the
necessary explanations, and told him that Rosanna had been mad enough to
set her heart on Mr. Franklin Blake.

Sergeant Cuff never laughed. On the few occasions when anything amused
him, he curled up a little at the corners of the lips, nothing more. He
curled up now.

"Hadn't you better say she's mad enough to be an ugly girl and only
a servant?" he asked. "The falling in love with a gentleman of Mr.
Franklin Blake's manners and appearance doesn't seem to me to be the
maddest part of her conduct by any means. However, I'm glad the thing is
cleared up: it relieves one's mind to have things cleared up. Yes,
I'll keep it a secret, Mr. Betteredge. I like to be tender to human
infirmity--though I don't get many chances of exercising that virtue in
my line of life. You think Mr. Franklin Blake hasn't got a suspicion of
the girl's fancy for him? Ah! he would have found it out fast enough if
she had been nice-looking. The ugly women have a bad time of it in this
world; let's hope it will be made up to them in another. You have got a
nice garden here, and a well-kept lawn. See for yourself how much better
the flowers look with grass about them instead of gravel. No, thank you.