Again her eyes were blazing with anger, and by a curious association of ideas, I suddenly remember, that I had once said to sister Laura that I would like to see this girl in a towering rage. Well, I was justified in my supposition! Her strange, almost weird beauty was enhanced by her intense emotion.
I spoke to her quietly. "You have done no harm in speaking to me thus; Graham Leroy is an acquaintance of mine, and a brother lawyer, but I have no personal friendship with him. I only suggested your consulting him, because it seemed to me right that you should do so."
"I thank you, Mr. Landon, for the interest you have shown in my affairs, and I am sure you will excuse me if I beg of you not to trouble yourself further about me."
Her sudden change of manner, from a gentle confidence to extreme hauteur warned me that she was about to conclude the interview, and that if I wished to carry my point, I must make a bold plunge. So, with an intonation scarcely less frigid than her own, I said:
"But—excuse me, Miss Pembroke, I feel it my duty to tell you that in all probability there will be a necessity for you to have the counsel of an experienced lawyer; and, since you have no one else at hand, I want to offer you my services. Do not think me presumptuous, but believe that I will do my best to serve you, and—that you will need such service."
The girl looked at me as if unable to comprehend my full meaning.
"Do I understand," she said slowly, "that because the apartment was locked and chained so that no one could enter, it may be supposed that I killed Uncle Robert?"
"You must admit," I replied, "that to a jury of disinterested outsiders it might seem to be a possibility."
"I!" she said, with a proud gesture and a look of hauteur even more scornful than she had previously shown; then with a sudden and complete change of demeanor she cried out brokenly: "Ah, well, perhaps I did!" and buried her face in her hands.
I was dumfounded. Her rapid alternations between an aggressive self-assurance and a nervous collapse left me more than ever uncertain as to the true nature of the woman.