Miss Gray watched her with the sharp glance of an eagle as she talked. There was an intensity in her gaze that puzzled Marion.
“And you have come to New York alone to search for your sister,” she said finally. “Without funds or friends you have entered upon this mission?”
“I have fifty dollars,” said Marion reluctantly, “and, oh, Miss Gray, do you not think uncle will help me? He must be rich to live in such luxury!”
Before she answered the question the woman rose and looked around, moving every drapery and curtain and looking behind it cautiously. At the last she tiptoed to the front room and listened a minute, when she returned she moved her chair as closely as possible to Marion’s.
“See here, girl, you look brave,” she said, very softly. “Can you face a serious matter without flinching, do you think? I have something to tell you, but you must promise to be perfectly calm when you hear it.”
As she spoke Marion noticed that her hands were trembling; she clinched them tightly, as though she resented this trace of weakness.
“I promise,” said Marion, staring wide-eyed at the woman. “I am not a child, Miss Gray—you must see that you can trust me.”
“I see that I can,” was the quiet answer, then the woman leaned forward and whispered rapidly:
“You have made a terrible mistake, my child, but you are not to blame. You are in the wrong place—your host is not your uncle!”
Marion caught her breath sharply but did not utter a sound.