The Duke of Burghley dropped his knife and fork at her first words. As she finished, he stood over her and passed a hand tenderly around her.
"My poor, poor little girl," he said. "This is terrible. Fairfield ought to have seen me first. I must telephone for your aunt to come and stay here until we can get away."
She shook her head a trifle impatiently.
"I don't want her, father. She cannot help me. I would rather be here alone with you. It would drive me mad to have sympathy showered on me. I want to see no one. I want to be left to myself."
"But—my dear, I know it is a shock, but you cannot be allowed to brood——"
She rose abruptly from the table and put him from her.
"I shall not brood," she said. "I shall work. I am going to Scotland Yard to learn what they know."
"Yes, yes, if you wish it," he said soothingly. "We will go at once. I will order the car now."
"I would rather go alone, if you don't mind," she said decisively, and the door closed behind her.
"She always was headstrong," remarked the Duke of Burghley to the devilled kidneys, and stared moodily into the fire.