“Ho! ho!” Kathryn spread them before her and read greedily––not sympathetically––but amusedly.
There were references to eyes, hair, expressions; even “mud-stained breeches.” With elbows on the table, daintily gloved hands supporting her chin, Kathryn read and thought and wove her plot with Northrup’s words, but half understood, lying under her gaze.
Suddenly Kathryn’s eyes widened––her ears caught a sound. Never while she lived was Kathryn Morris to forget her sensations of that moment, for they were coloured and weighted by events that followed rapidly, dramatically.
In the doorway stood Mary-Clare, a very embodiment of the girl described in the pages on the table. The tall, slim, boyish figure in rough breeches, coat, and cap, was a staggering apparition. The beauty of the surprised face did not appeal to Kathryn, but she was not for one instant deceived as to the sex of the person on the threshold, and her none-too-pure mind made a wild and dangerous leap to a most unstable point of disadvantage.
The girl in the doorway in some stupefying fashion represented the “Fight” and the “Puddle” of Northrup’s adventure. If Kathryn thought at all, it was to the effect that she had known from start to finish the whole miserable business, and she acted upon this unconscious conclusion with never a doubt in her mind. The two women, in silence, stared at each other for one of those moments that can never be measured by rule. During the palpitating silence they were driven together, while yet separated by a great space.
Kathryn’s conclusion drove her on the rocks; Mary-Clare’s startled her into a state of clear vision. She recovered her poise first. She smiled her perturbing smile; she came in and sat down and said quietly:
“I was surprised. I am still.”
Kathryn felt a wave of moral repugnance rise to her assistance. The clothes might disguise the real state of affairs––but the voice betrayed much. This was no crude country girl; here was something rather more difficult to handle; one need not be pitiful and condoning; one must not flinch.
“You expected, I suppose, to find Mr. Northrup?”