“And you'll get all his property?” Morocco Kate was getting vindictive now.
“I cannot discuss that with you,” said Viola, simply. “All matters of business are attended to at the office. You will have to see Mr. Blossom.”
“Huh! LeGrand Blossom! No use seeing him. I've tried. But I'll try again, and say you sent me.” The voice was back to its original dulcet tones now. “That's what I'll do, my dear Miss Carwell. I'll tell LeGrand Blossom you sent me. He needn't think he can play fast and loose with me as he has. If he doesn't want to pay this bill, contracted by your father in the regular way—and I must say he was very nice to me—well, there are other ways of collecting. I haven't told all I know.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Viola hotly. “Oh, there's time enough to tell later,” was the answer. “I haven't been in the rare edition business for nothing, nor just for my health. But wait until I see LeGrand Blossom. Then I may call on you again!” And with this rather veiled threat Morocco Kate took her leave.
“What horrible person was that?” asked Miss Mary Carwell, who met Viola in the hail after her visitor's departure. “She was positively vulgar, I should say, though I didn't see her.”
“Oh, she was just a book agent. I sent her to Mr. Blossom.”
“To Mr. Blossom, my dear! I didn't know he was literary.”
“Neither was this person, Aunt Mary. I think I shall go and lie down. I have a headache.”
And as she locked herself in her room shed bitter tears on her pillow. Who was this person who seemed to know Mr. Carwell so well, who boasted of how “good” he was to her? Why did Colonel Ashley want to gain all the information he could about her?
“Oh, what does it all mean?” asked Viola in shrinking terror. “Is there to be some terrible—some horrible scandal?”