Joyce Was Herself a Mystery, an Enigma,
as Inscrutable as "Paquita."
Converse cast a covert glance at the girl, to note the effect of this outburst; but her manner revealed not the slightest alteration. It was plain that such determination would betray nothing by either a word or sign. But why? Speculation upon this question led swiftly and surely to the darkest possibilities—nay, probabilities—that might elucidate her conduct.
He made another effort.
"If you would but dismiss the idea that I am an enemy—"
"Ah," interrupted the Doctor, quickly; "I understand your impersonal attitude exactly, Mr. Converse. You are not an enemy. If the way were clear before you to do so, I think we could count on you as a trustworthy friend to extricate us from our difficulties. On the other hand—well, to be brief, it is this impersonal attitude which may prove inimical to us. I—I—pardon me, I can't be more explicit."
"I might construe such a statement to mean that, were I to perform my duty in the light of actual facts, the operation would be—well, disagreeable to you."
The response was a lifting of the brows and a shrug of the shoulders, which said quite plainly—perhaps more plainly than the Doctor intended,—"I cannot prevent your placing any construction upon my words you may see fit."
"If you will permit the observation, Doctor," Converse remarked, dryly, "your words are contradictory to come from a man entirely innocent."
A flash from the physician's eyes gave warning of an angry rejoinder; but another unconscious movement of the hand which held his so tightly brought his sister sharply to mind, it would seem, and the words, when uttered, betrayed a note of helplessness.