Dorcas turned quickly, and just managed to catch an up-bound elevator as its door was about to close.
“Now, you let her alone, Corson,” said Bates, sharply. “I don’t mind telling you she’s the girl I intend to marry, but we’re not really engaged. That is, it isn’t announced. And I ask you, as man to man, to say nothing of it, to say nothing to her, and to keep her out of it all you can. Lord knows, you’ve no reason to think of her in connection with the horrible affair!”
“No; except as she’s interested in you, and you’re the heir.”
“Forget it. Who told you I was the heir?”
“Everybody knows it,—it’s in all the papers.”
“I haven’t looked at a paper! Lord, I don’t think I can!”
“Better not; they’re not pretty reading.”
“What do you mean? Any aspersions against my uncle’s character?”
“No, not that. But when the word women occurs in connection with the murder of a rich and influential man, there’s bound to be surmise,—at least.”
“Oh, I suppose so. Well, do you want me down here? I’d like to go up to see my aunt.”