"And the letter with it!" added Mary Louise regretfully. "You ought to have let me read it while I could, Irene."
"What letter are you talking about?" asked the lawyer.
"It is nothing important, Uncle Peter," Irene assured him. "The loss of the book does not worry me at all."
Nor did it, for she knew the letter was not in it. And, to avoid further questioning on the part of Mr. Conant, she managed to turn the conversation to less dangerous subjects.
CHAPTER XVII
THE HIRED GIRL
Mr. Conant had just put on a comfortable smoking-jacket and slippers and seated himself in the den, pipe in mouth, when the old-fashioned knocker on the front door of the Lodge began to bang. It banged three times, so Mr. Conant rose and made for the door.
Mrs. Conant and Mary Louise were in the kitchen and Irene was in her own room. The lawyer reflected, with a deprecating glance at his unconventional costume, that their evening caller could be none other than their neighbor, the beautiful Miss Lord, so as he opened the door he regretted that his appearance was not more presentable.
But it was not Miss Lord who stood upon the porch awaiting admittance.
It was a strange girl, who asked in a meek voice:
"Is this Hillcrest Lodge?"