"Well, Slade," she began, with unconscious but none the less galling patronage, "what can I do for you? Dear me! You do not favor your father in the least.... Daughter, hand me my glasses.... Thank you.... He was such a large, florid man. But probably your health—"
"Mamma," Charlotte gently interrupted, "Mr. Slade has come on business. Perhaps he cannot be detained." She had taken a position behind her mother's chair, and had leant down until her lips were close to the lace cap. As she stood upright again, Mrs. Fairchild protested petulantly:
"Yes, yes, child; I know. I do not mean to detain him..... What were you saying, Slade?"
That individual presented a spectacle of overwhelming embarrassment. He had not opened his mouth since entering the room, and now, when he did, it was to appeal to the daughter.
"For God's sake, Miss Charlotte," he whispered hoarsely, as if he did not intend the mother to hear, "for God's sake, leave us. What I have to say is very private; indeed it is. I will have done as soon as possible."
Charlotte remained motionless behind her mother's chair, returning to this astonishing outburst a look of wonder. The older woman also regarded the man with an expression of surprise.
On rare occasions—especially under any sudden mental shock or access of feeling—Mrs. Fairchild's intellect assumed something of its old-time activity and brightness. Slade was sensible of such a change now, though unable to define it; he felt the personality manifesting itself in her look, and he turned from Charlotte to her with whom lay his first interest.
"I cannot imagine the occasion for such an extraordinary demand, Slade," the afflicted lady said at length; "but if it may be of any advantage to you my daughter shall retire."
"No, no, mamma," Charlotte protested, quickly. "I fear to leave you with this—this man. I shall be deaf and blind, but I cannot leave you."
Never before had such a request been made of her, and a growing dread had awakened in her bosom that Slade's errand boded ill for her mother. Whence come these premonitions of impending evil? To what mysterious depths of our being do they owe their source, and why is it customary to deride them? Experience certainly justifies that we bestow upon these inward promptings a serious consideration, yet we almost invariably ignore and ridicule them. And now the silent warning cries, "Stay!"