It was Lucian Davlin's soft, lazy voice, and that disagreeable half smile lurked about the corners of his eyes and mouth.
"I've had more welcome visitors," said the old woman, with more truth than politeness, and rubbing her eyes with the corner of her apron, "what do you want?"
"Only a small matter of information, which I believe you can give me."
"Well," said Hagar, testily.
"I want to make a few inquiries about Mr. Arthur of Oakley."
"About Miss Madeline, I suppose you mean. I won't tell you a word—"
"My dear, good woman, I don't ask nor wish any information regarding that young lady—my inquiries solely concern the father. He is said to be wealthy!"
"What is John Arthur or his money to you?" she questioned, eying him with much disfavor.
"Nothing whatever," he indifferently replied. "I merely inquire on behalf of a friend."
"I'll throw him off the scent if he does mean Madeline," thought the old woman.