With a final embrace which brought a howl from young Horace, Edith gave the boy to the nurse and began her story of finding Horace Endicott in the son of Anne Dillon. She acted the story, admirably keeping back the points which would have grated on Sonia's instincts, or rather expectations. The lady, impressed, evidently felt a lack of something when Curran refused his interest and his concurrence to the description.
"What do you wish me to do?" said she.
"To see this Dillon and to study him, as one would a problem. The man's been playing this part, living it indeed, nearly five years. Can any one expect that the first glance will pierce his disguise? He must be watched and studied for days, and if that fetches nothing, then you must meet him suddenly, and say to him tenderly, 'at last, Horace!' If that fetches nothing, then we must go to California, and work until we get the evidence which will force him to acknowledge himself and give up his money. But by that time, if we can make sure it is he, and if we can get his money, then I would recommend one thing! Kill him!"
Sonia's eyes sparkled at the thought of that sweet murder.
"And wait another five years for all this," was her cynical remark.
"If the question is not settled this Fall, then let it go forever," said Edith with energy.
"The scheme is well enough," Sonia said lazily. "Is this Arthur Dillon handsome, a dashing blade?"
"Better," murmured Edith with a smack of her lips, "a virtuous sport, who despises the sex in a way, and can master woman by a look. He is my master. And I hate him! It will be worth your time to see him and meet him."
"And now you," to Curran.
Sonia did not know, nor care why Edith hated Dillon.