The woman pushed back her white hair and made an effort to be calm. But her lip quivered. "Why have you come here to awaken these painful memories?" she asked.
"Because I wish to know how my father came by his death."
"I do not know--indeed, I do not know," moaned Miss Bull, putting out her hand as though to ward off the thought.
"You may not know for certain, but you have some idea. Your sister, Mrs. Ward----"
Miss Bull's face flushed crimson, and she drew a deep breath. "Oh, it's Violet's work, is it?" she said, and her eyes grew hard. "And pray, Mr. Brendon, has she sent you to cross-question me?"
"No. I come on my own behalf. You knew my father?"
"Percy Vane. Yes, I knew him. He loved me---ah, indeed he did! That night he asked me to be his wife, and had he not been murdered----"
"Did he ask you when he was taking you home?" asked George, wondering how Miss Bull would have behaved as his stepmother.
"Taking me home? He never did that on the night of the ball."
"Your sister, Mrs. Ward----"