Mrs. Underwood presided at her own table with the detached air of a casual guest. "Mistress of herself, though china fall," Burton murmured to himself as he looked at her; and he had an intuition that china would quite frequently be exasperated into falling by her calm. Henry sat mostly silent, with downcast eyes, though occasionally he would look up, under half-lifted lids, with an expression of scorn or secret derision. If he had shown more animation or kindliness, he would have been a handsome man; but the heavy melancholy of his look had drawn bitter lines about his mouth, and his very silence seemed half reproachful, half sullen.
As for Leslie, the only discomposing thing about her was her beauty. Every time that Burton looked at her, it struck him anew as incongruous and distracting that she should hand him the bread or have an eye to his needs. She should have been kept in a case or a frame. She belonged in a palace, where she would have due attendance and ceremony. Well,--Philip had not been such a fool, after all.
"Now I am going to begin my story," said Leslie, "because I want Mr. Burton to understand what lies back of this present persecution. The story goes back six years."
Henry gave his sister one of his slow, curious looks, but dropped his eyes again without putting his silent comment into words.
"Six years ago we were kept in hot water all one summer by some malicious person who played mischievous pranks on us, and wrote anonymous letters to us and about us. For instance, there were letters warning people to be on their guard against papa, saying he had learned from the Indian medicine men how to put spells on people and make them wither away and die."
"If I could have done half the wonders they credited with me with," laughed Dr. Underwood, "I would have out-Hermanned Hermann and out-Kellered Keller. Indian fakirs and black magicians wouldn't have been in it with Roger Underwood, M. D. It was like accusing a man who is shoveling dirt for one-twenty-five a day of having money to pay the national debt concealed in his hatband."
"Then there were a lot of letters about Henry," Leslie went on. "They would say, for instance: 'Henry Underwood is a liar.' 'Henry Underwood is a thief.' 'Henry Underwood ought to be in the penitentiary.' All one summer that kept up."
Henry had dropped his knife and fork and sat silent, without looking at his sister. His face was the face of one who is nerving himself to endure torture.
"Were there any accusations of the other members of the family?"
"No. Only Henry and father.