"And all charming, I am sure," answered the young man courteously.
And so the conversation went on, all frothy, all about nothings--mere spume and spindrift of the mind. And the lighter it became the more certain did Hench become sure that Banquo's ghost was haunting the room. He felt quite relieved when Mrs. Perage conducted himself and Gwen into the drawing-room, for there the psychic atmosphere was less oppressive. The girl, however, appeared to feel it otherwise, for after playing on the piano for a few minutes she began to wander restlessly round the room. Mrs. Perage attempted to frown her into sitting down, but as this proved to be an impossible task she accepted the situation with grim resignation.
"You may as well enlist Mr. Hench as your champion, child. You will never be quiet until you do."
"Enlist me as your champion!" echoed Hench, glancing at Gwen.
The girl grew flushed. "That is Mrs. Perage's pretty way of putting things," was her reply, as she sat down near the hostess. "But I do wish you to help me, Mr. Hench. I'm not quite sure if I am right in doing so, and perhaps you will think it is presumption on my part. But, somehow, your having saved my life has made you more than a friend."
"More than a friend?"
"I mean"--Gwen became even more crimson than she already was, as she became aware that she had spoken more freely than was necessary--"more familiar than most of my friends."
"Who are usually mere acquaintances," observed Mrs. Perage quietly. "Why beat about the bush, Gwen? You know that Mr. Hench is clever and kind-hearted, and you are anxious that he should do you a favour. That is the situation."
"Any favour I can do you, Miss Evans----" began the young man eagerly, when the girl stopped him.
"Don't say another word until you know what the favour is," she said in an abrupt manner; "to do what I want may be unpleasant. In a word I want you to try and find out who murdered my father."