“Not ill?”
She shook her head in mute denial.
“Is it something connected with me—with me and Major Simpson that has upset you so?”
The lady did not speak, but a tightening of the hand which Josie held gave the girl to understand that it was something to do with her and the old detective that was making her weep.
“And the watermelons—are they a private dish or am I to have a slice? Come now, my dear friend, for you are dear friends—both you and Mary—please tell me what it is all about. I feel you are angry with me about something and distrust me in some way. I must have a talk with you and Mary.”
Mary, whose door was not so tightly closed that she could not hear her name mentioned, came quickly into the living room. She, too, had been weeping, but her mother’s wild message concerning watermelons had brought on a fit of uncontrollable laughter and now she was verging on hysterics. She tried to speak but could only giggle helplessly.
Josie looked at mother and daughter with a quizzical expression as much as to say: “Well what next?” Then she drew Mary to a seat and standing in the middle of the room she spoke in a tone of patient gentleness and humility.
“I feel sure that something has arisen to make you doubt and distrust me. I am to blame for this because I have been concealing something from you that no doubt I should have told you long ago, but my profession is such that it is wiser and safer to keep my own counsel.”
“Oh—hh!” shuddered Mrs. Leslie. “Don’t tell us anything that you will regret. You can get away now if you go immediately and wild horses will not drag from me where you have gone. Indeed, you need not even tell me where you are going—but go quickly, poor child.”
“Are you sending me away?”