"It looks wild, of course." He mused a moment. "But, after all, one knows where she comes from; her father was a professional man; she's a lady."
"What was her father's name, again?"
"Brettan—Anthony."
"Ever heard it before?"
"If there wasn't such a person, one can find it out in five minutes. Besides, my mother would have to decide for herself. I should tell her all about it, and if an interview left her content, why——"
"Well," said Corri, "go back to the Bench and sum up! You'll find me on the bed. By the way, if you could hand my pipe out without offending the young lady, I should take it as a favour."
"You've smoked enough. Wait! here's a last cigar; go and console yourself with that!"
Kincaid returned to the room; but he was not prepared to sum up at the moment. Mary looked at him anxiously, striving to divine, by his expression, the result of the consultation on the stairs. The person consulted had been Mr. Corri, she concluded, the man that she had been sent to importune. Old or young? easy-going or morose? On which side had he cast the weight of his opinion—this man that she had never seen?
"We were talking about the companion's place, Miss Brettan," began Kincaid. "Now, what do you say?"
Instantly she glowed with gratitude towards the unknown personage, who, in reality, had done nothing.