First, all the county news must be retailed and a bit of mild gossip concerning old neighbors be whispered. Major Simpson had long ago given up the habit of spending his holidays back home since the old folks had all died off and his ancestral halls passed into the hands of strangers. But his interest in all pertaining to his county was as strong as ever.
“I only go back for funerals, now,” said the old man sadly. Mrs. Leslie thought of the last funeral she had attended in that part of the world, that of Mr. Leslie, and her eyes filled with tears. The gay little coffee and doughnut party seemed in danger of becoming as sad as a wake but Mrs. Leslie brushed away her tears and smiled on her guest, filling his cup and pressing upon him another doughnut. So by simple grace happiness and good cheer were restored.
“Now tell me of your daughter. It seems strange for little Polly Bainbridge to have a grown daughter. Do you two ladies live here all alone?”
“Oh no! We have a lodger—Miss O’Gorman. By the way, Major Simpson, she says she is employed at Burnett & Burnett’s.”
Mrs. Leslie could not resist a slight emphasis on the “says” although she had promised Mary to try and forget the strange suspicions that had arisen in her mind concerning her gentle little lodger.
“She says right!” declared the Major shortly, suddenly remembering that he was a detective out on a scent. “What do you know of the young person?”
“Nothing—nothing at all! She came here in answer to an advertisement my daughter and I put in a Sunday paper. We took her in without references. Come to think of it, her saying she had a position with Burnett & Burnett seemed to me all the reference I needed since you were one of the firm.”
“No, no, dear lady—not yet—merely a trusted officer of the company. But tell me more of this Miss O’Gorman. How does she impress you? Do you feel that she is not—er—er exactly what she pretends to be?”
“Oh Major Simpson, it seems wrong to doubt the girl but—”
“But what?”