Brendon said nothing, and in a few moments Miss Bull composed herself sufficiently to tell what she knew. "My father was General Howard," she said quietly, "and Violet was my only sister. We never got on well together. Violet was jealous of admiration, and as I was said to be prettier than she was she hated me intensely. Whenever any one liked me Violet would do her best to take him away from me."
"I can quite believe that," said George, recalling Mrs. Ward's arts.
"She did not always succeed, however," continued Miss Bull, with a flush. "I had my admirers also, and some I could keep. But when Violet could manage it, she always took them away."
"You hinted that she took my father away," said Brendon.
"She did--at least she tried to. But if he had not been murdered I should have been Mrs. Vane in spite of Violet's arts."
"Well, tell me how you came to San Remo and met my father."
"Oh, I knew him before that. We were six months at Como and saw your father frequently then. He and the General used to talk politics. Mr. Vane was always bringing us books and magazines, and we used to climb Mount Bisbino. What a delightful summer that was! I remember you then," she added, looking at George with interest. "You were scarcely two years old--a dear, good, fair little fellow. I met you and the nurse sometimes, and often carried you.
"Was the nurse's name Eliza Stokes?"
"No. It was--let me see, some Scotch name--Jane Fraser, I think."
"Ah! Then Eliza Stokes was not at Como?"