“I wish to see Mrs. Rogers.”
“I am Mrs. Rogers.”
“I am here on a matter of business, Mrs. Rogers.” He glanced about the room, embracing the others in his comprehensive survey. “Of course, if you have guests, I could perhaps come at some other time.”
“I hardly think it will be necessary,” remarked Edith nervously. She had not the least idea what this dignified-looking old gentleman could want with her, but it was clearly evident that he was neither a book-agent nor a bill-collector. She was conscious of a growing presentiment of evil and, in her perplexity, she turned to her husband. “Mr. Brennan,” she said, “this is my husband.”
The two men bowed. “I am glad to meet you, Mr. Brennan,” said Donald, coming toward him. “You have business with my wife, I understand.”
“Yes, Mr. Rogers. Business of great importance.” Mr. Brennan’s tone was significant—ominous.
Donald took the lawyer’s coat and hat. “My mother and sister, Mr. Brennan,” he observed. “Won’t you take a seat?”
Brennan bowed, but declined the chair. “I shall keep you but a moment. My business is with your wife, Mr. Rogers, but I came at this hour, in the hope of finding you at home as well. The matter concerns you both. I am an attorney, of the firm of Gruber, McMillan, Brennan & Shaw, of Number 11 Wall Street.”
“Yes?” replied Donald, looking in surprise at Edith. She with Alice, and the mother, who had risen from her chair, stood regarding the visitor with interest.
“I regret to say,” continued Mr. Brennan, in an even tone, “that I have come upon a very sad errand.”