“Skip over and look at the fountain,” she called softly, and then turned, for the door was opening.
A serving-man in blue-and-gold livery admitted her in to a dimly-lighted, softly-carpeted hall. Having stated her errand, Carol sat on the edge of a chair holding fast to her bundle of important papers, and waited the appearance of the old gentleman who Peter had told her looked like an ogre.
“How solemn and quiet everything is,” she thought as she glanced about, “but of course there is nothing to be afraid of.”
Just then she heard a cane knocking across the floor in an adjoining room, the velvet portières parted and Mr. Dartmoor himself stood before her.
“How do you do, little lady?” he said, and his voice did not sound at all like an ogre’s.
Carol slipped from the chair and half curtsied. “I’m very well, sir, thank you,” she replied. “I am Carol Lorens, and my father asked me to give you this bundle of legal papers.”
“So you are Mr. Lorens’ little girl? You are about fourteen, are you not?” the old gentleman asked kindly.
“I am fifteen,” Carol replied less timidly.
“I have a granddaughter who is the same age,” Mr. Dartmoor said as he held back a portière. “Yonder is her portrait.”
“Oh, how lovely she must be!” Carol exclaimed as she stepped inside the room and gazed admiringly at the life-sized painting which hung over the mantel. A beautiful young girl looked out at them and a shaggy collie stood at her side.