The telephone broke in upon her musing, and as she put the receiver to her ear and said “hello” she was almost as much astonished as delighted to hear in reply the voice of Felix Brand himself. He told her that he had just got home, after another beastly trip into the back woods of West Virginia, where he had had an accident. He had slipped and sprained his ankle—no, it was nothing serious, and was all right now, but it had kept him a prisoner for nearly two weeks in a mountain cabin a thousand miles from anywhere, and he would be at the office as soon as he had had his luncheon.
Glad as she was that he was there once more to take up the matters that needed his attention so badly, Henrietta was almost afraid to face him, when she heard his voice in the outer room, lest there might be that in his appearance which would give form and force to the doubts that were stirring in her mind.
But he seemed no different from his usual, affable and well-dressed self. He wore, in all seasons, very dark or black clothing, which was always in perfect condition, and fitted his well-proportioned figure trimly and closely rather than with the looser English cut. His dark eyes looked down upon her with their usual caressing smile and his clean-shaven face, with its finely modeled, regular features, was as handsome, as refined, as ever.
But, no,—his secretary was conscious of something in its expression she had never noticed there before. What with the rejoicing that filled her heart and the work that kept her hands and brain busy all the rest of the day, she had not time to think what it was, or to give it any definite form in her thoughts, until her homeward trip by subway, ferry and trolley gave her leisure to scan closely the happenings of the afternoon.
Even then she merely said to herself that there was something in his face and eyes that did not seem quite like him, something that was not so “nice” as he had always seemed to be. She did not know enough about the evil undercurrents of life to give the thing more specific definition. But she did know that, whatever it was, it stirred, deep within her, a faint sense of repulsion.
“Did you get my letter?” was one of the first things he said to her.
“No, Mr. Brand, I’ve heard nothing at all from you since you left.”
“You didn’t? That’s queer. I gave it to the porter to mail and he probably forgot all about it. I went away so hurriedly I didn’t have time to write until after I got aboard the train. There were some directions in it about the work here. Well, we’ll have to go back and take things up where we left off. And the first thing is that letter I wrote and asked you not to send. Where is it?”
“Oh, I ventured to mail that—I knew how important it was, and I found out enough about the business to feel sure you would want me to.”
“You did! How fortunate!”