The Governor turned his eyes from Fownes to Carmel, and they lighted an instant in tribute to her loveliness.
“Your daughter?” he asked.
“You don’t know the young woman?” Fownes said.
“It is my misfortune,” said the Governor.
“Um!... Possibly. Then, as I supposed, she is not here at your invitation?”
The Governor looked from one to the other of them, and seemed distressed, embarrassed. He sensed a tenseness, a situation, and, of all things, he hated to face situations.
“I don’t understand,” he said.
Carmel stepped closer. “Governor,” she said, “I am not a guest. I came to see you to-day on an important matter—a matter of life and death. I went to your office, but you had gone. It was necessary to see you to-night.... So I came. I am an intruder—but I will go as quickly as I can.... After I have spoken with you.”
Fownes shrugged his shoulders and laughed.
“The young woman deserves to get ahead,” he said, “if effrontery can win success.... But, unfortunately, I know her, Governor. She owns a bankrupt, blackmailing rag in Gibeon.... That is unimportant, but, otherwise, I am sure your wife would not care to have her rubbing elbows with her guests.... In Gibeon——” he paused to allow the innuendo to take effect. “To prevent unpleasantness, or any chance of her recognition here, the best thing will be to call a servant and show her quietly to the street.”