III
Alan felt unpleasantly like a spy as he drew near the house that evening. He would have preferred putting Hunter on the stand and cross-examining him. After all, he was a lawyer, not a detective, and to go to a friend’s house for the purpose of observing and judging him seemed an unworthy thing to do.
“Still, if he hasn’t anything to be ashamed of, he won’t care,” he reflected. “If he has, I’d better know it. I’ll have to study him carefully for some time.”
He rang the bell, and was amazed at the confusion the sound apparently caused. He had to wait outside for a long time, while furniture was being pushed about, footsteps hurried to and fro, and doors were closed. Then, at last, the door was opened, and he was still more amazed.
No one had ever heard mention of any other members of the household but Mrs. Carew and Hunter. Who, then, was this lovely girl, dark and serious, a little flushed and ruffled, as if from haste, but with the high-held head, the level, unabashed glance, the dignity of a young princess?
Having come expressly to observe, Alan did observe, and he thought this was the most intelligent and charming face he had seen in many a day. The girl was obliged to repeat her question.
“Who is it you want, sir?”
“Sir”—impossible! She didn’t speak like a servant, or dress like one, or look like one.
“The doctor in?” he asked.
“No, sir—not at present. If you care to wait—”
He asked for Mrs. Carew, and gave her his name, and she left him in the little sitting room, where he began to walk up and down, very much perplexed. A pretty room, furnished in a very good taste, but shabby. Through the half-open folding doors he could see a dining room of very much the same sort, with the table still laid, as if the diners had just risen. And—the table was laid for three!
“For three!” he said to himself. “And yet there’s no guest here. Mrs. Carew and Hunter—and who else?”
There was a light, quick step on the stairs. Turning, he saw the inexplicable girl descending. This was an excellent op[Pg 115]portunity to study her, which Alan did not miss. A remarkable girl! Mere prettiness was not a thing that particularly appealed to this young man. He had met dozens of pretty girls without losing his heart. What interested him now was not the fine regularity of her features, but her air of candid and unassuming dignity, and the thoughtful intelligence of her face.
She entered the room to tell him that Mrs. Carew would be down directly.
“Thank you!” said he, and sought desperately for something to say that would keep her there.
Before he could do so, she had gone—only into the dining room, however, where he could still watch her as she cleared off the table. The more he watched, the more impressed and the more puzzled he became. When he caught sight of her hands—strong and beautiful hands, exquisitely tended—he very nearly exclaimed aloud. Three places at the table, and a girl with hands like that playing the servant!
“It’s a good thing I came,” he reflected grimly. “There’s something here that needs explaining.”
Well, he didn’t get much out of Mrs. Carew when she came down. He brought the talk around to the topic of servants. She said that she never had any trouble with them.
“You’re fortunate,” he observed.
“Indeed I am!” she replied brightly. “How charming the country is beginning to look now!”
After this, he couldn’t very well go on with the subject; but he felt no hesitation in approaching Hunter in a more direct fashion when they were alone.
“That’s a very remarkable young woman who opened the door for me,” he said. His eyes were on the other man’s face, and he saw him turn red.
“Yes,” said Hunter. “She—she is.”
But Alan’s eyes were still on him, and he was obliged to continue.
“She’s—not exactly a servant, you know,” he said. “In fact, she’s a sort of—relation. Helps my aunt, you know. She—she is remarkable, Lorrimer, very.”
Alan gave serious attention to this problem. His legal training did not make him disposed to believe everything he heard, though he was too intelligent to go to the other extreme and believe nothing.
What was the explanation? Had Hunter made a misalliance, which he was ashamed of, and wanted to conceal? No—marriage with that girl wouldn’t be a misalliance for any one, and she wasn’t the sort who would consent to being concealed.
His sister? There was no possible reason for keeping a sister like that hidden. If it was the case that she really was a poor relation kept as a servant to help Mrs. Carew, then it was a very bad case, and the aunt and the nephew might well be ashamed of themselves. Alan believed that they were ashamed, too.
Hunter had mentioned that he was going to take Mrs. Carew to the moving pictures that evening, and Alan decided then and there that he would use that time for further investigations.
“Because, if they’re capable of making a drudge of a girl like that,” he said to himself, “Nesta’s going to be told. It’s the most beastly piece of snobbishness I’ve ever come across! Evidently she eats with them. No doubt she’s one of the family until an outsider appears, and then she’s nobody.”
He was a little surprised at the vigor of his indignation. As a rule, he didn’t easily become indignant.
“But she’s such a remarkable girl,” he explained to himself. “I’ve never seen any one like her.”