“This gentleman said he was an old friend of your father’s, and that he had been in the army himself. But the singular part of the visit was that he did not give his name.”
“Very singular, indeed,” said Miss Davison.
But though her outward tranquillity was perfect, it did not deceive Gerard.
“Miss Graham thought you and Lady Jennings ought to know about the visit, because he asked a good many questions about you. He was, I understand, a man past middle age, with an upright figure and a perfectly white mustache.”
He saw at once that Miss Davison recognized the description, although she raised her eyebrows and said—
“Indeed! I suppose he was an old friend of my father’s, and that it was only a whim to hide his name. It’s absurd of Miss Graham to make so much fuss about the matter. If it had been anyone without any knowledge of us, who wanted to scrape acquaintance with Lilian, you may be sure he would have given some name, even if it had not been his own. People who have anything to be ashamed of don’t do eccentric things.”
The reasoning was admirable, and Gerard bowed his head in assent. But for all of that he knew that the information had thrown Rachel into a state of deadly fear, and that she was worrying herself with a new and unexpected anxiety.
For a long time neither spoke, and it was not until the cab had turned into Sloane Street, and they were quite near to Lady Jennings’ house that Miss Davison turned suddenly to him again.
“You pretend to admire me, don’t you?” she asked sharply.
“No. I don’t pretend, Miss Davison.”