"Oh, Lynn, Lynn, how could you?" she sobbed.
"Mrs. Hadwell, can you give me this Mr. Ricossia's address?"
Mrs. Waite's cold, thin voice sounded unpleasantly at Estelle's elbow.
"Yes, I believe it's the Chatham, either 10 or 12 St. Eustache St.," answered the younger woman, staring through wet eyes in sheer amazement. "Are you there, still, Mrs. Waite? I thought you had gone."
"Don't—don't mind so much," said the "Gorgon-faced automaton" with difficulty. "Perhaps something can be done."
"Oh, nothing, nothing, I am afraid, except to stand by her."
"You believe this story?"
"No!" lied Mrs. Hadwell, firmly.
"Neither do I. I am sure there is some explanation if one could only find out what it is. And I have plenty of money, now; money can do a great deal sometimes in cases of this kind, and there is nothing I would sooner spend it on"——
"You—you? But, Mrs. Waite—if you don't mind my asking—why should you—what is Lynn to you?"