“But then,” continued Mrs. Ingham-Baker, in a low and feeling tone, “you always were the soul of generosity.”
The “soul of generosity” gave an exceedingly wise little smile--almost as if she knew better--and looked up sharply towards the door. At the same moment the butler appeared.
“Mr. Pawson, ma’am,” he said.
The little nod with which this information was received seemed to indicate that Mr. Pawson had been expected.
Beneath her black curls Mrs. Ingham-Baker’s beady eyes were very much on the alert.
“In the library, James,” said Mrs. Harrington--and the two jet ornaments bending over the silken needlework gave a little throb of disappointment.
“Mr. Pawson,” announced the lady of the house, “is the legal light who casts a shadow of obscurity over my affairs.”
And with that she left the room.
As soon as the door was closed Mrs. Ingham-Baker was on her feet. She crossed the room to where her hostess’s key-basket and other belongings stood upon a table near the window. She stood looking eagerly at these without touching them. She even stooped down to examine the address of an envelope.
“Mr. Pawson!” she said, in a breathless whisper. “Mr. Pawson--what does that mean? Can she be going to alter her--no! But--yes, it may be! Perhaps Susan knows.”