Mellicent turned to him eagerly.
“Oh, Mr. Smith, it’s the lawyer—he’s come. And it’s true. It is true!”
“This is Mr. Smith, Mr. Norton,” murmured Mrs. Jane Blaisdell to the keen-eyed man, who, also, for no apparent reason, had grown very red. “Mr. Smith’s a Blaisdell, too,—distant, you know. He’s doing a Blaisdell book.”
“Indeed! How interesting! How are you, Mr.—Smith?” The lawyer smiled and held out his hand, but there was an odd constraint in his manner. “So you’re a Blaisdell, too, are you?”
“Er—yes,” said Mr. Smith, smiling straight into the lawyer’s eyes.
“But not near enough to come in on the money, of course,” explained Mrs. Jane. “He isn’t a Hiller-Blaisdell. He’s just boarding here, while he writes his book.”
“Oh I see. So he isn’t near enough to come in—on the money.” This time it was the lawyer who was smiling straight into Mr. Smith’s eyes.
But he did not smile for long. A sudden question from Mellicent seemed to freeze the smile on his lips.
“Mr. Norton, please, what was Mr. Stanley G. Fulton like?” she begged.
“Why—er—you must have seen his pictures in the papers,” stammered the lawyer.