When they drove to the theatre Mrs. Hillmer, on alighting at the entrance, said to her coachman, “You may return home now, and bring Dobson to meet me at 11.15.”
“May I venture to inquire who Dobson is?” said Claude.
“Certainly. Dobson is my maid.”
This woman puzzled him the more he saw of her. He was now quite positive that she lived on the fringe of Society. Her status was, at the best, dubious. Yet he had never heard of her before, nor met her in public. None of his friends were known to her, and she mentioned no one beyond those popular personages who are connu of all the world. She was obviously wealthy and refined, with more than a spice of unconventionality. At times, too, beneath her habitual expressions of lively and vivacious interest, there was a touch of melancholy.
For an instant her face grew sad when her eyes rested on a typical family party of father, mother, and two girls who occupied seats in the row of stalls directly in front of her.
For some reason Bruce felt sorry for Mrs. Hillmer. He regretted that the exigencies of his quest forced him to make her his dupe, and he resolved that, if by any chance her scapegrace brother were concerned in Lady Dyke’s death, Mrs. Hillmer should, if possible, be spared personal humiliation or disgrace.
Indeed, he had formed such a favorable opinion of her that he had made up his mind to conduct his future investigations without causing her to assist involuntarily in putting a halter around her relative’s neck.
Nevertheless, it was impossible to avoid getting some further information, as the lady herself paved the way for it. Her comments betrayed such an accurate acquaintance with the technique of the stage that he said to her, “You must have acted a good deal?”
“No,” she said, “not very much. But I was stage struck when young.”
“But you have not appeared in public?”