“Miss Lindsay,” and the visitor took both Phyllis’ hands in her own. “I am so glad to know you. May I help you?”
“Oh, I hope you can,” Phyllis said, fascinated by the strange child.
For Zizi looked like a child. Little, slim, and of a lithe, nervous personality, her big, dark eyes gazed into Phyllis’ with an expression of intense interest in her and her affairs.
“You’re troubled,” she went on, as Phyllis responded to her evident friendliness. “But it will be all right; Pennington Wise will clear up the mystery and you will be glad again.”
“You queer little thing!” Millicent exclaimed. “Turn around here and let me look at you.”
Zizi, turned, smiling, her white teeth just showing between her scarlet lips, her eyes dancing, cheeks glowing, and her black hair muffed over her ears—a highly-colored picture of vivid, restless vitality.
“Yes, Mrs Lindsay,” she responded in her low, yet clear voice, “and please like me, for I’m going to stay here.”
“Stay here!”
“Yes, please, during the investigation. Mr Wise will come and go, but I have to be here all the time.”
“Why, certainly—of course, if you wish——”