It was only for a moment, and then the front door opened and the man swaggered out. Without troubling any further about her milk, Mary crept up the stairs again. She had plenty now to occupy her thoughts. What was that man doing here, and what letter was it that he was so anxious to obtain? And why had he so powerful an influence over Mrs. Speed? It was open to Mary to ask the question, but she decided to do nothing of the kind.
After all, questions of this sort would be worse than useless. They would only arouse the suspicion and perhaps incur the curiosity of Mrs. Speed. Still, the whole thing was a most extraordinary coincidence--not quite so much of a coincidence perhaps if Mary had looked into the mind of Ralph Darnley?
But as the girl could not do so, she had to figure out the problem as best she could. She recalled vividly to mind now the strange suggestions made by Lady Dashwood as to a great sin in the past with which she was intimately connected. And here, according to Mrs. Speed, the latter was an accomplice either before or after the fact. And why did the man who came here in such urgent need of a certain letter require that document, seeing that he had been accepted all around as Sir Vincent Dashwood?
Mary was still pondering the problem when Connie came back. The latter was her own bright and cheerful self again, she had done a good morning's work, and she had been paid for it to the extent of nearly a sovereign. She was inclined to take a light view of life. She made no allusion to the portfolio, for which Mary was grateful.
"I am very hungry," she said. "How nice this pressed beef is, and the lettuce, too! I have had better, but as things go in London they are very good."
Mary was silent. The beef was stringy and a little dry, the lettuce wilted and yellow. In her mind's eye the girl could see the luncheon table of the dower house at this particular moment; she could see the dusky, cool room, with the breeze coming off the flowers in the garden. She could see the snowy cloth and the crystal and the salad, cool and refreshing in the great silver bowl. There would be nectarines and peaches too from the ripe south walls of the garden. The whole atmosphere of it flooded Mary's soul and brought the tears to her eyes.
"You are homesick," Connie said softly; "I used to be the same at one time. And, of course, this luncheon is not at all nice, only I like to pretend that it is. But you shall tell me all about yourself when you come to know me better. And you shall also tell me what luck you had with the portfolio this morning."
"I had no luck at all," Mary said presently, "nothing but slights and insults, rebuffs and bitter humiliations. I might have been a servant girl for all the civility I received. And even one man, who seemed to have a heart in his breast, told me to come home and burn the lot."
"Wherefore you bounced out of the shop indignantly," Connie laughed.
"Indeed I didn't, I was too utterly crushed and sorrowful for that. I crept here and made a bonfire of my precious drawings, and I am ready to ask your pardon for the cold way in which I accepted your good advice this morning. There!"