The man was in the mood to see ghosts in every shadow. He was too much taken up with his own affairs to smell an ugly plot amongst his own kin.
He went to the library, his fast unbroken, and with a sour mouth, and rang the bell. He told the footman who answered his summons to send a maid to Miss Modeyne’s room and tell her he would like to see her when she came down.
Betty came tripping at the summons; shut the door; and stood a-wonder before the shamed seated man.
She stepped forward anxiously:
“Mr. Malahide,” she said—“I hope you are not ill.”
He shook his head.
He saw that the white hand she put on the desk trembled. A hoarse note came into her voice:
“I hope nothing has happened to your son—Horace——”
He shook his head.
“No, Miss Betty—but I have had information, through a friend, an old friend of my family, this morning that I believe is a lie. I hope to God—it is—a—lie.”