CHAPTER IV
OUR MYSTERIOUS NEIGHBORS
This was a faithful and exact account of my meeting with the first of those two of our neighbors who seemed, according to Lady Naselton’s report, to remain entirely outside the ordinary society of the place. Curiously enough, my meeting with the second one occurred on the very next afternoon.
We came face to face at a turning in the wood within a few yards of her odd little house, and the surprise of it almost took my breath away. Could this be the woman condemned to isolation by a whole neighborhood—the woman on whose shoulders lay the burden of Bruce Deville’s profligacy? I looked into the clear, dark eyes which met mine without any shadow of embarrassment—returning in some measure the keen interest of my own scrutiny—and the thing seemed impossible.
She spoke to me graciously, and as though to do so were quite a matter of course. Her voice completed my subjugation. One may so often be deceived by faces, but the voice seems an infallible test.
“There is going to be a terrible storm,” she said. “Won’t you come in for a few minutes? You will scarcely be able to get home, and these trees are not safe.”
Even while she was speaking the big rain drops began to fall. I gathered up my skirts, and hurried along by her side.
“It is very good of you,” I said, breathlessly. “I am dreadfully afraid of a thunderstorm.”
We crossed the trim little lawn, and in a moment I had passed the portals of the Yellow House. The front door opened into a low, square hall, hung with old-fashioned engravings against a background of dark oak. There were rugs upon the polished floor, and several easy chairs and lounges. By the side of one was a box from Mudie’s, evidently just arrived, and a small wood fire was burning in the open grate. She laid her hand on the back of a low rocking chair.