"I am, indeed. In fact, I have seldom been so upset. Perhaps I have no cause to be; it may turn out well for me." She gave vent to an uneasy little laugh, made an aimless sort of attempt to reach a fan that dangled by a jet chain from her wrist, gave it up, and settled back rigidly in her chair.
Mr. King, having nothing to say, picked up a paper-cutter on his writing-table and played with it, not looking at her.
"I'll tell you the whole story, then you'll see how I've got the notion in my head," she said explosively at last. "A notion that has turned to absolute truth, as I hope and pray!" Her thin face was white and drawn.
"I shall be very glad to hear whatever you may choose to tell me," said the old gentleman, turning courteously to her, "and then if I can be of any service, Madam Van Ruypen, you may command me."
She nodded her stately head. "You knew Emily?" she asked abruptly, her sharp eyes full on his face.
"Emily?" He searched his mind diligently, but no Emily, who naturally connected herself with the lady before him, appeared. "I am afraid not," he reluctantly admitted.
"You cannot have forgotten my daughter," cried Madam Van Ruypen, "though to be sure she was quite a child when we took her abroad to live."
"Oh, your daughter!" cried Mr. King; "indeed, I remember her quite well, though, as you say, she was a mere child when you deserted your own country to educate her abroad. But she was not Emily in those days," he rubbed his forehead in a puzzled way; "unless my memory plays me a trick, she was Helena."
"Helena she was," assented the old lady, undisturbed. "I remember now, it was afterward we began to call her Emily,—quite for a family reason. Well, that is neither here nor there. Now I won't go into details; enough to say that Emily, despite all her advantages, disappointed us utterly. Perhaps you remember hearing about that. Echoes, if no more, and plenty of them, reached my old home here," she added bitterly.
Mr. King bowed silently.