Mrs. Atterbury sat immovable until the sound of the girl's footsteps had died away upon the creaking stairs far overhead. Then she rose and gliding swiftly to the mantel, glanced over the cards and notes of her predecessors. Tossing them aside contemptuously, her eyes fell upon an open desk between the windows. A sheet of note-paper half covered with writing lay upon it and picking it up she scanned it deliberately, nodding in evident satisfaction.
"'Reverend Doctor Slade,'" she repeated aloud. "Greenville, Iowa."
A quarter of an hour later, two figures emerged from the dingy vestibule and descended to the waiting car, the girl cringing in her thin black cloak against the icy blast which swirled about them, the older woman erect as if the very elements themselves could not compel her to bow her head.
With her foot upon the step the girl hesitated and her eyes swept the bleak snowy darkness in swift terror, like a trapped animal. The look was gone as quickly as it had come, however, and into her face crept a trace of the sinister, resolute triumph which had crossed it while she waited behind the curtains of her window for the entrance of this woman in whose hands she had placed herself.
In silence she seated herself beside her new employer, the footman closed the door with a snap and they glided swiftly away through the snow-muffled streets. Few words were spoken during the brief journey, and they were mere commonplaces, but beneath the casual banality ran an undercurrent of sharp tension almost tangible enough to be felt. It was as if, unconsciously, they were adversaries, pausing by tacit consent to take breath for a second encounter. The girl lay back relaxed with half-closed eyes, the woman sat with her veiled face averted, and each seemed buried in her own thoughts, yet each was aware of the sly, furtive glances of mutual speculative appraisal which passed between them.
The droning wind arose to a shrieking gale when they turned into the North Drive, the merging strands of electric light breaking into widely detached clusters as compact rows of brick and stone gave place to exclusive residences, each sequestered within its private park. The whistles of the river boats rose eerily above the blast of the storm and the girl shuddered and drew the straggling fur collar more closely about her throat.
"You must have warmer clothing." The woman spoke without turning her head. "You will need one or two dinner frocks also. That can be arranged tomorrow, and I will supply them, as you are disposing of your mourning at my request. We are home at last."
The car swerved from the broad avenue and turning in between two high gate-posts, followed a short winding drive to a brilliantly lighted porte-cochère. Light streamed, too, from the opened doorway, upon the threshold of which stood a thick-set man in the conventional black of a butler.
"Welch," Mrs. Atterbury spoke with curt authority, "Miss Shaw will take Miss Harly's place. Show her to her room, please." Turning, she added to her companion: "We dine at seven. You need not change."
The butler bowed obsequiously, but his beady eyes surveyed the girl deliberately from head to foot in a coolly impudent stare before he picked up her bags and started for the staircase.