“Yes; his name’s Essex, and he’s a friend of Mrs. Willers’ that I know. He was here, and I thought he’d come about music lessons, so I came down looking rather untidy. That was how it happened.”
“And he stayed an hour talking about music lessons?”
“No—oh, no; other things.”
They turned into the hall, Barron, in his character of general guardian of the Garcia fortunes, shutting the door of the state apartment. He had the appearance of taking no notice of Mariposa, but as soon as he got into the light of the hall gas he sent a lightning-like glance over her face.
“It was funny,” he said, “but as I came up the steps I thought I heard some one calling out. I dashed in and fell into the arms of your music-lesson man, who said no cries of any kind had disturbed the joy of his hour in your society.”
Mariposa had begun to ascend the stairs.
“Cries?” she said over her shoulder; “I don’t think there were any cries. Why should any one cry out here?”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to know,” he said, watching her ascending back.
She turned and passed out of sight at the top of the stairs. Barron stood below under the hall gas, his head drooped. He was puzzled, for, say what they might, he was certain he had heard cries.