“Yes, we were obliged to do so. She dismissed us peremptorily and ordered us from the room.”
“And you saw her next, Miss Stuart, when?” asked Fleming Stone gently.
Pauline hesitated for a perceptible instant, then she said, with a slight air of bravado, “next morning.”
“I have been told the main facts,” went on Stone, “but I want to learn certain details. Please tell me, Miss Stuart, exactly how she then appeared.”
“Oh, I can’t!” and Pauline flung her face into her hands with a short, sharp cry.
“I should think you couldn’t!” exclaimed Anita, and her voice was distinctly accusing.
This seemed to rouse Pauline, and she looked up haughtily at the speaker. “I don’t wonder you think so!” she cried. “But since you ask, Mr. Stone, I will do the best I can. My aunt was seated at her dressing-table, but not in her usual chair,—or indeed, as if she were in any way attending to her toilette,—but in an easy chair, more as if she were sitting there in contemplation.”
“Was she given to such indications of vanity?” asked Stone, in a gentle way.
“Not at all. My aunt was not a beautiful woman, and she had no illusions about her personal appearance. I have never known her to look at herself in a mirror more than was necessary for her dressing. Her maid will tell you this.”
“Go on, please, Miss Stuart.”