“I don’t think it could have been anything very serious, dear, nothing more than just a temporary depression of spirits, because—well, you know what a merry little piece my sister is and how she jokes and laughs and says nonsensical things until you can’t help being cheered up and laughing, too. She seemed to amuse Mr. Brand and he was very kind and took us all for a ride in his auto. And, oh, Mildred, you should have seen how lovely he was with my poor, frail mother! He insisted that she must go, that it would do her good, and he carried her in his arms out to the auto and back, and was as tender and careful with her as a son could have been!”
“How like him!” the girl beamed. “He is so good and kind! Harry, there isn’t another man like him in this whole world! It would kill me to lose him!”
“We had a delightful ride and Mr. Brand seemed to enjoy Bella’s merry talk. She sat with him, and when we came back and he returned to the city he was looking quite himself again.”
“Oh!” said Mildred, drawing back and looking at Henrietta with narrowing eyes. She was too absorbed in her own intense emotions to perceive the embarrassment which suddenly gripped her companion. Henrietta, wildly groping about in her own mind for something to say which would relieve the momentary strain, chanced upon what her employer had said about Hugh Gordon and her own subsequent suspicions, which had been made sharper by the charges in the morning newspapers.
“Mildred, dear!” she exclaimed. “Has Mr. Brand ever said anything to you about a man called Hugh Gordon?”
“Hugh Gordon!” The girl straightened up, her color rising and her eyes flashing with indignation. “Why, he’s that dreadful creature who is responsible for all that horrid mess in the papers this morning, isn’t he?”
“The committee’s report says that he gave them their first information and told them how to get the rest of it.”
“Horrid creature! I know it’s all a mess of lies! No, I never heard of him before. Why do you ask? Do you know anything about him? Did Felix ever speak of him to you?”
“Only once—last Sunday,” Henrietta hesitated.
“What was it?” the other demanded. “What did he say? Oh, I knew you were keeping something from me! Tell me, Harry!”