She was early in town, and was shown into Mr. Baring’s presence very soon after his arrival at his office. Unlike most of the heirs-presumptive to the Avonsyde property, Phil had not been subjected to the scrutiny of this keen-eyed lawyer. From the very first Miss Griselda had been more or less under a spell as regards little Phil. His mother in writing to her from Australia had mentioned one or two facts which seemed to the good lady almost conclusive, and she had invited her and the boy direct to Avonsyde without, as in all other cases, interviewing them through her lawyer.
Mr. Baring therefore had not an idea who his tall, pale, agitated-looking visitor could be.
“Sit down,” he said politely. “Can I assist you in any way? Perhaps, if all the same to you, you would not object to going very briefly into matters to-day; to-morrow—no, not to-morrow—Thursday I can carefully attend to your case. I happen to be called into the country this afternoon and am therefore in a special hurry. If your case can wait, oblige me by mentioning the particulars briefly and making an appointment for Thursday.”
“My case cannot wait,” replied Mrs. Lovel in a hard, strained voice. “My case cannot wait an hour, and you need not go into the country. I have come to prevent your doing so.”
“But, madam——”
“I am Mrs. Lovel.”
“Another Mrs. Lovel? Another heir forthcoming? God help those poor old ladies!”
“I am the mother of the boy who to-morrow is to be publicly announced as the future proprietor of Avonsyde.”
“You! Then you have come from Avonsyde?”
“I have. I have come to tell you a terrible and disastrous story.”