CHAPTER XIX
A CORNER OF THE CURTAIN
A note was brought in to me at luncheon time, addressed in a bold yet delicate feminine hand which was already becoming familiar. It was from Adelaide Fortress, and it consisted of a single line only—
“Will you come to me this afternoon?—A.F.”
I went to see her without any hesitation. She was sitting alone in her room, and something in her greeting seemed to denote that she was not altogether at her ease. Yet she was glad to see me.
“Sit down, child,” she said. “I have been thinking about you all day. I am glad that you came.”
“Not very cheerful thoughts, then, I am afraid,” I remarked, with a certain half-unconscious sympathy in my tone. For her face was white and drawn, as though she had spent a sleepless night and an anxious morning.
“Not very,” she admitted. “I have been thinking about you ever since you left me yesterday. I am sorry for you. I am sorry for all of us. It was an evil chance that brought that South American girl here.”
“Was she born in South America?” I asked, with pointless curiosity.
“I do not know,” she answered. “I should think so. She told me that she had spent most of her life there. A girl who dresses as she does here, and wears diamonds in the morning, must have come from some outlandish place. Her toilette is not for our benefit, however.”
I looked up inquiringly. She continued, with a slight frown upon her face—