“Papa, who was it?” she demanded tremulously. “Who went out just now?”
He looked up and saw Diane leaning on the banisters. The strong light on the landing made a luminous nimbus behind her small, spirited head and outlined her slender figure in a loose evening gown, the full, short sleeves falling away from delicate forearms and slender wrists. Her whole attitude suggested suspense and trepidation, and her father felt her eyes fixed on him, feverishly bright.
“Don’t worry, my dear—it wasn’t Faunce.”
“Oh!” There was a suggestion of extreme relief in the tone, coupled with some curiosity. “Then who was it?”
“Simon Overton.”
“Oh!” It was the same sound, but with a different note—a note that spoke volumes to her father’s awakened ear.
“He came here—guess what for!”
She relaxed her hold on the banisters and sat down on the steps, her face in the shadow, but her large eyes shining luminously through it and making her face seem singularly white.
“I can’t guess. I give it up—unless he came to see you?”
The judge moved slowly over and stood near the foot of the stairs, watching her.