"And you consider that a pretty fair estimate of his character?" "I did and do."
"Uh-huh. Well, everything about Hubert Fane: the way he looked, the way he dressed, the way he acted: all indicated that he was a real sizzler. He liked his women young, the younger the better. He liked 'em delicate and fragile. Like Polly Allen, for instance. Or like-"
"Were you looking at me?" inquired Ann, as H.M. peered so strongly and obviously in her direction that she had to take notice. Ann colored up.
"Yes, my wench, I was. And I'd like to bet you that Hubert Fane had been makin' what we'll call advances to you. And that you were on the point of telling us so, when we kept mistakenly askin' you about Arthur's activities in that direction. Only you couldn't force yourself to do it.
"I remember how you looked at Adams's place, that Thursday afternoon by the clock-golf outfit, when we first talked about Polly Allen. You said with a pointed kind of emphasis that you didn't know Arthur well, but you did know his 'family.' You wouldn't refer to his wife like that. And he hadn't got any family: his father and mother died at a time you were in rompers. Any family, that is, except Hubert. Is that what you were tryin' to convey?"
"Yes," admitted Ann, and nodded her head violently.
Her face was scarlet.
"For some time?" asked H.M.
"Yes, for some time."
"What had he been doing?" inquired Vicky, with considerable interest.