“Mrs. Bates?” Anita said, going to her and taking her hand.
“Yes, Miss Austin,—I am very glad to know you.”
But the words ceased suddenly as Emily Bates looked into the girl’s eyes. Such a depth of sorrow was there, such unmistakable tragedy and a hint of fear. What could it all mean? Surely this was a strange girl.
“We have never met before, have we?” Mrs. Bates said,—almost involuntarily, for the girl’s gaze was too intent to be given to a stranger.
“No,” Anita said, recovering her poise steadily but slowly,—“not that I remember.”
“We have,” burst forth the irrepressible Pinky. “I say, Miss Austin, please realize that I’m here as well as my more celebrated aunt! Don’t you remember the morning I met you on the bridge,—and you were just about to throw yourself over the parapet?”
“Oh, no, I wasn’t,” and a delightful smile lighted the dark little face. The lips were very scarlet, but it was unmistakably Nature’s own red, and as they parted over even and pearly teeth, the smile transformed Miss Austin into a real beauty.
It disappeared quickly, however, and Pinky Payne thenceforward made it his earnest endeavor to bring it back as often as possible.
“Of course you weren’t,” agreed Mrs. Bates, “don’t pay any attention to that foolish boy.”
“I’m a very nice boy, if I am foolish,” Pinky declared, but Miss Austin vaguely ignored him, and kept her intent gaze fixed on Emily Bates.