She nodded thankfully. Yes, he did understand.
“Then may I say that I think I realize what it must have meant to you to come in here for that purpose? And, Miss Millicent, while I did not know at the time, I do know now, and regret nothing.”
“Nothing?” she murmured.
He shook his head. “Nothing. Shall I go on?”
She nodded again and, lifting her eyes, took a long straight look at her father’s portrait. Perhaps he was here now, and knew, and was in a way glad she had come. She noted, too, with a sort of thankfulness that Derrick did not sit at the desk.
“When I came first,” he continued, “I saw Perkins. She gave me a strange impression, but it was not altogether discomforting. I took the house without consulting my sister, being attracted to it in a way that I only began to understand by degrees. I actually felt what had happened here before being told about it. That isn’t the sort of thing one can explain, but—”
“It doesn’t need explanation,” she put in.
He sent her a quick, searching glance. “It helps to have you say that. Well, after we moved in, the thing, or perhaps it was the influence, grew stronger—I can’t express it in any other way—till presently I was sure we were meant to come. I got some details from Perkins, but they were incomplete; I was convinced that I must wait for more—which would certainly be furnished from some source.” He paused, reflected for a moment, and went on rapidly. “Does it seem impertinent for me, an utter stranger, to be so interested and allow myself to be drawn into something which is not my affair? If it does, I can only assure you that it is not curiosity, or,” he added thoughtfully, “the result of anything I have done or said.”
“It is impossible to think that.”
“I’m glad you see it that way, because it brings me to Martin. Is it on account of Martin you were kind enough to come in?”