So, instead of beginning as he had planned, to put a list of logically prepared keen questions to a floundering and suspecting victim, he found the clear eyes of Ma looking into his unwaveringly and the wise tongue of Ma putting him through a regular orgy of catechism before she would so much as admit that she had ever heard of a girl named Lizzie Hope. Then he bethought him of her daughter's letter and handed it over for her to read.
"Well," she admitted at last, half satisfied, "she isn't here at present. I sent her away when I found you was comin'. I wasn't sure I'd let you see her at all if I didn't like your looks."
"That's right, Mrs. Carson," he said heartily, with real admiration in his voice. "I'm glad she has some one so careful to look out for her. Your daughter said she was in a good safe place, and I begin to see she knew what she was talking about."
Then the strong look around Ma's lips settled into the sweeter one, and she sent Bob after the girl.
"Are you a friend of hers?" she asked, watching him keenly.
"No," said Reyburn. "I've never seen her but once. She doesn't know me at all."
"Are you a friend of her—family?"
"Oh, no!"
"Or any of her friends or relations?" Ma meant to be comprehensive.
"No. I'm sorry I am not. I am a rather recent comer to the city where she made her home, I understand."