A grim smile stole over the woman’s face.
“He is drinking a little more than usual to-night,” she said softly, “but don’t worry—it won’t hurt him, and you will be that much safer.”
“Why, what do you mean?” asked Marion in alarm.
Miss Gray laughed bitterly.
“Wait until he is dead drunk,” she said, “and perhaps I’ll tell you.”
Marion was almost too astonished to even think, but as yet not a suspicion of the truth had dawned upon her.
That the man in the parlor was her uncle she did not doubt for an instant, but she was filled with disgust at the possession of such a relative.
“Of course he is no blood relation,” she whispered to herself. “And he may not be a bad man when he is in his sober senses. What a pity it is that he should drink!” She drew a long sigh at the conclusion of her reverie.
“There!” said Miss Gray, coming in and depositing an empty glass on the table. “At last he is safe for the night, at least! Now, I am ready, Miss Marlowe, to hear the rest of your story!”
It was the first sign of genuine interest that she had shown, and Marion smiled at her gratefully before continuing.