“I fear so. And those are the things that worry me. If they think Natalie killed my father to get that money, it is a strong point against her. Of course, she didn’t, but all the evidence and clues in this whole business are misleading. I never saw or heard of such a mass of contradictory and really false appearances. That’s why I’d rather hush it all up, and not try to go farther.”
“Here comes Natalie now. I’ll leave you two alone and I’ll go to see what I can do with Joyce about that clairvoyant matter.”
Barry scarcely heard the last words, for the mere sight of Natalie entering the room was enough to drive every other thought from his mind. Her white house gown was of soft crêpe material, with a draped sash of gold silk, a few shades deeper than her wonderful hair. Gold-hued slippers and stockings completed the simple costume, and in it Natalie looked like a princess. With all her dainty grace and delicate lines, the girl had dignity and poise, and as she walked across the room Barry thought he had never seen anything so lovely.
“You angel!” he whispered; “you gold angel from a Fra Angelico picture! Natalie, my little angel girl!”
He held out his arms, and the girl went to him, and laid her tiny snowflake of a hand on his shoulder.
“Why do you stay in this room, Barry? I don’t like it in here.”
“Then we won’t stay. Let us go out on the Terrace in the sunlight.”
The Autumn afternoon sun was yet high enough to take the chill off the crisp air, and on a wicker couch, covered with a fur rug, they sat down.
“Here’s where we sat, the night of——” began Barry, and then stopped, not wanting to stir up awful memories.
“I know it,” returned Natalie. “You left me here,—where did you go, Barry?”