"Horrid!" ejaculated Miss Marlow, elevating her nose. "How can you enjoy cutting up people? But don't let us talk of these things; they remind me of poor dear father."
"My dear, you really should not be so morbid. Death is only natural. It is not as though you had been with him all your life, instead of merely three years."
"I know; but I loved him none the less for that. I often wonder why he was away so long."
"He was making his fortune. He could not have taken you into the rough life he was leading in Africa. You were quite happy in your convent."
"Quite," she agreed, with conviction. "I was sorry to leave it. The dear sisters were like mothers to me. I never knew my own mother. She died in Jamaica, father said, when I was only ten years old. He could not bear to remain in the West Indies after she died, so he brought me to England. While I was in the convent I saw him only now and again until I had finished my education. Then he took the Moat House--that was five years ago, and two years after that I came to live with him. That is all our history, Alan. But Joe Brill might know if he had any enemies."
"Yes, he might. He lived thirty years with your father, didn't he? But he can keep his own counsel--no one better."
"You are good at it too, Alan. Where were you last night? You did not come to see me."
He moved uneasily. He had his own reasons for not wishing to give a direct answer.
"I went for a long walk--to--to--to think out one or two things. When I got back it was too late to see you."
"What troubled you, Alan? You have looked very worried lately. I am sure you are in some trouble. Tell me, dear; I must share all you troubles."