She, I note, seems anxious and somewhat uneasy, and she sees at a glance that I am not the jaunty, faultlessly-dressed young idler of past days, but a dusty, dishevelled, travel-stained individual, wearing, instead of the usual society smile, a serious and preoccupied look upon my face.
"Miss Manvers," I say, at once, "you will pardon my abruptness, I trust; I must talk with you alone for a few moments."
She favors me with a glance of keen inquiry, and a look of apprehension crosses her face.
Then she turns with a gesture of careless indifference, and leads the way to the drawing-room, where she again turns her face toward me.
"I have before me an unpleasant duty," I begin again; "I have to inform you that Arch Brookhouse has been arrested."
A fierce light leaps to her eyes.
"Is that all?" she questions.
"The charge against him is a grave one," I say, letting her question pass unanswered. "He is accused of attempted abduction."
"Abduction!" she exclaims.