But as soon as she entered, she came upon Landon and Mrs. Black in the little reception room, in close confab.
“Come in,” said the widow, “come in and talk to us.”
“We won’t have time for much conversation,” said Landon, looking at his watch, “I want Mrs. Black to go out with me on an errand. May I order the car?”
“Certainly,” said Mrs. Black, smiling. “I want all my guests to feel at liberty to give any orders they choose.” Her smile included Avice and gave the girl that uncomfortable feeling that always manifested itself when the ex-housekeeper asserted herself as mistress of the place.
“Please, Avice, don’t look like that,” said Eleanor, with an injured air. “I want you to look on this house as home just as long as you choose to do so. And, indeed, you may continue in charge of it, if that is what you want.”
“Car’s here,” sang out Landon. “Come on, Eleanor.”
“Eleanor!” thought Avice, as the two went away. She had never heard him call her that before, and it struck her like a chill. And yet she felt sure there was a strong friendship, if not something deeper between them, and she must be prepared for even endearing terms.
But Avice, despite her quick anger, was of a nature born to make sacrifices. She could do anything to help those she loved, and she had suddenly realized that she did love Landon. So without thought of reward, she began to plan how she could help him.
She turned from the window without even wondering where they were going; only conscious of a vague, dull longing, that she felt now, would never be gratified.
And then, Harry Pinckney came, for one of his rather frequent calls. Avice was glad Eleanor was out as she so objected to the sight of a detective, and the young reporter had added that line of work to his own.