“I asked her to come to my room without letting anyone know she was coming, because things like that are better done without the chance of any other party poking his nose into the affair. It seemed to me quite a private matter, with which no one else had any concern. Curiously enough, Mr. Stickney, my views on that point are still unchanged.”
Freddie’s beady eyes were fixed on the carpet. He refused to be drawn. At a gesture from Mrs. Brent, Eileen continued the narrative.
“I waited until I thought everyone was out of the way. Then I took my bedroom candle, slipped on my dressing-gown, and made my way to Mrs. Brent’s room. That was where I was going when Mrs. Caistor Scorton saw me.”
The girl had got over the worst of her story; she reached a point where no blame could attach to her, and her voice showed the difference. At last she was able to shake herself free from suspicions. Westenhanger noticed that she did not even look in Freddie’s direction. He had ceased to be of any importance.
“I went down the staircase and along the corridor to Mrs. Brent’s room. She had been sitting up waiting for me. I’d like to tell you how kind . . .”
“No comments, please, Eileen,” interjected Mrs. Brent again. “Let us have the facts.”
The girl’s eyes met Mrs. Brent’s, resisted for a moment, and then dropped.
“Very well,” she assented. “It’s for you to say. They’ll know how I feel without my putting it into words. I’ll go on. Mrs. Brent told me she would pay my debt. She gave me some advice. And she made me promise two things. The first was that I wouldn’t play bridge again for stakes higher than I could afford. I promised that. I’d had my lesson. The second promise was that I wouldn’t mention to anyone anything that had happened that night. I promised that, too. It seemed little enough to promise, after her kindness. She laid a good deal of stress on it. She said she hated to have anything of the kind known.”
“I do,” confirmed Mrs. Brent. “I’ve no desire to publish things of that sort. It’s a private affair. Of course, I’d no idea then that privacy was a back number. I’ve learned.”
Eileen took up her narrative again.