She rose as she heard us, leaving the young man standing alone at the piano. He was of an age perhaps a year or two older than Reginald Blake. It was evident that, whatever Miss Betty might think, he had eyes for no one else but the pretty debutante. He even seemed to be regarding Kennedy sullenly, as if he were a possible rival.
“You—you don’t think it is serious?” whispered Betty in an undertone, scarcely waiting to be introduced. She had evidently known of our visit, but had been unable to get away to be present upstairs.
“Really, Miss Blake,” reassured Kennedy, “I can’t say. All I can do is to repeat what I have already said to your mother. Keep up a good heart and trust me to work it out.”
“Thank you,” she murmured, and then, impulsively extending her small hand to Craig, she added, “Mr. Kennedy, if there is anything I can do to help you, I beg that you will call on me.”
“I shall not forget,” he answered, relinquishing the hand reluctantly. Then, as she thanked him, and turned again to her guest, he added in a low tone to me, “A remarkable girl, Walter, a girl that can be depended on.”
We followed Miss Sears down the hall.
“Who was that young man in the music room?” asked Kennedy, when we were out of earshot.
“Duncan Baldwin,” she answered. “A friend and bosom companion of Reginald.”
“He seems to think more of Betty than of her brother,” Craig remarked dryly.
Miss Sears smiled. “Sometimes, we think they are secretly engaged,” she returned. We had almost reached the door. “By the way,” she asked anxiously, “do you think there are any precautions that I should take for Mrs. Blake—and the rest?”