But Jennings made her sit down again. "Not yet, my girl," he said firmly, "if you wish to do Mr. Mallow a good turn—"
"Oh, I'll do that," she interrupted with sparkling eyes, "after all, he can't help giving his heart elsewhere. It's just my foolishness to think otherwise. But how can I help him, sir?"
"He wants to find out who killed Miss Loach."
"I can't help him there, sir. I don't know who killed her. Mrs. Herne and Mr. Clancy and Mr. Hale were all gone, and when the bell rang she was alone, dead in her chair with them cards on her lap. Oh," Susan's voice became shrill and hysterical, "what a horrible sight!"
"Yes, yes," said Jennings soothingly, "we'll come to that shortly, my girl. But about this photograph. Was it in Senora Gredos' dressing-room long?"
"For about three months, sir. I saw it one morning when I took up her breakfast and fell in love with the handsome face. Then Gibber told me the gentleman came to the house sometimes, and I went up the stairs against orders after eight to watch. I saw him and found him more good-looking than the photograph. Often did I watch him and envy Senora Gredos the picture with them loving words. Sir," said Susan, sitting up stiffly, "if Mr. Mallow is engaged to Miss Saxon and doesn't love Senora Gredos, why did he write those words?"
"He did not write them for her," said Jennings doubtfully, "at least I don't think so. It is impossible to say how the photograph came into the possession of that lady."
"Will you ask him, sir?"
"Yes, when you are gone. But he won't speak while you are in the room."
Susan drooped her head and rose dolefully. "My dream is gone," she said mournfully, "though I was improving myself in spelling and figures so that I might go out as a governess and perhaps meet him in high circles."