The doctor’s library had a charm of its own. It was a big room, careless, a little shabby, but furnished in fastidious taste and with a friendly sort of comfort. A great wood fire was blazing on the hearth, and Dr. Quelton drew up an armchair before it for Lexy.
“There!” he said. “Now you’ll soon be warm and dry. Anna!”
“Yes, sir!” the parlor maid responded from the doorway.
“Please tell Mrs. Quelton that Miss Moran is here.”
“Yes, sir!” repeated the maid, and disappeared.
Lexy sat down. Captain Grey stood, facing her, leaning one elbow on the mantelpiece. Dr. Quelton paced up and down, his hands clasped behind him. He looked like a dignified middle-aged gentleman in his own home.
A door opened somewhere in the house, and for a moment Lexy heard the homely and familiar sound of an egg-beater whirring and a cheerful Irish voice inquiring about “them potaters.” It was surely a cheerful and pleasant enough setting; but Lexy did not find it so.
“I saw Caroline!” she insisted to herself. “I don’t care what any one says. I saw Caroline!”
A strange sensation of pain and dread oppressed her. What should she do? Whom should she tell?
“Captain Grey,” she thought; “but not now. It’s no use now. Dr. Quelton would deny it. I’ll have to wait until we get out of here; and then, perhaps, it’ll be too late. He knows I saw her. Something—something horrible—may happen!”