Mrs. Dredge's remarks had by no means been lost on Noel. When he left Miss Egerton's house he consulted his watch, and found that he had still an hour to spare before he need try to catch his train. He thought for a moment or two, recalled certain expressions on Daisy's face, certain words which dropped from her lips, and, above all, a look which had filled her pretty eyes on the one and only occasion when they had met Dove together.
Noel began to feel more and more certain that this man, to whom he had taken a great dislike, had something to say to all the child's misery. Noel knew, however, that suspicion in such a case would be of little avail—he must have certainty, and certainty could only be his by cautious and wary movements.
Again he consulted his watch, and now he determined on a bold course. He remembered that the girls had once told him that Dove was a painter by trade, but that he seldom or never had anything to do. Noel was extremely fastidious, and, if possible, almost over-refined in the arrangements of his own home. He made his little plan with a sigh, but he would have done more than this for the sake of pretty little Daisy.
Walking quickly, he soon found himself at the Doves' address in Eden Street. His knock at the hall door was answered by Tommy Dove, who assured him that both his father and mother were having high tea with shrimps and watercresses in the back parlor.
Noel said he wanted to see Dove on business, and Tommy, remarking that the back parlor was as good a place as any other for this purpose, ushered the visitor in direct.
"I believe you are a painter," said Noel—"I have chambers at Westminster, and want to have my balcony and front windows painted. I've heard of you through the Miss Mainwarings, and as I'm in a hurry to get the job completed at once, I have called round to know if you are disengaged."
"Of course you are, Dove," said his wife.
"Softly, my only love," replied her husband. "Sir, be pleased to take a seat. I shall be glad to do my best for you, and any recommendation from the young ladies you mention is most gratifying to me. Sweet young ladies they was, and ever will be—and my wife and me, we mourns unceasing for their departure."
"Speak for yourself, Dove," said the wife—"we are doing better with our present attics than we ever did with our late attics. Sir, you'll excuse me, but truthful I ever will be at all costs."
"Can you paint my windows or not?" said Noel, rising to his feet, and speaking with some asperity. "If you are too busy to undertake the work pray say so, and let me seek some one else, for my time is precious."