Ladislas looked uncertainly from Hemingway to the ladies. Mavis said that perhaps he would prefer her to remain, her voice conveying so strong a suggestion that there existed between them a beautiful understanding that he looked more frightened than ever, and made haste to disclaim any desire for her support. So Mavis began reluctantly to collect her numerous parcels, and the Chief Inspector, retrieving from under the table a paper carrier, handed it to her, saying that she seemed to have been doing a lot of shopping.
“Only mourning,” Mavis replied reverently, and with a slightly reproachful inflection. “I know it's out of date to go into mourning, but I think myself it is a mark of respect. So I asked Miss Dearham if she would go into Bellingham with me, because I didn't quite feel I could go alone—though I know I must get used to being alone now.”
As she spoke, she turned her eyes towards Ladislas, who avoided her gaze, looking instead, and with considerable trepidation, at Hemingway.
“Quite so,” said Hemingway. “Did you respect your uncle, miss?”
This direct question made her blink at him. “What an extraordinary thing to ask me!” she said. “Of course I did!”
“Do you mean really, or because he's dead?” asked Abby, unable to suppress her curiosity.
“Abby, I know you don't mean it, but I do so hate that cynical sort of talk! I was very, very fond of Uncle Sampson, and naturally I respected him.”
“Well, that interests me very much,” said Hemingway. “Because, if you don't mind my saying so, miss, you seem to be about the only person I've met who did respect him.”
“Perhaps,” she suggested, “I knew him better than anyone else did.”
“Just what I was thinking,” agreed Hemingway. “So perhaps you can tell me why he managed to get himself disliked. Now, don't say he wasn't disliked, because I know he was and you must have known it too!”