“Hannah,” I said in a low voice, “there is a Crime being committed in this neighborhood, and you talk to me of food.”
“Good gracious, Miss Bab!”
“I cannot tell you any more than that, Hannah,” I said gently, “because it is only being done now, and I cannot make up my Mind about it. But of course I do not want any food.”
As I say, I was perfectly gentle with her, and I do not understand why she burst into tears and went away.
I sat and thought it all over. I could not leave, under the circumstances. But yet, what was I to do? It was hardly a Police matter, being between friends, as one may say, and yet I simply could not bare to leave my Ideal there in that damp bath-house without either food or, as one may say, raiment.
About the middle of the afternoon it occurred to me to try to find a key for the lock of the bath-house. I therfore left my Studio and preceded to the house. I passed close by the fatal building, but there was no sound from it.
I found a number of trunk-keys in a drawer in the library, and was about to escape with them, when father came in. He gave me a long look, and said:
“Bee still buzzing?”
I had hoped for some understanding from him, but my Spirits fell at this speach.
“I am still working, father,” I said, in a firm if nervous tone. “I am not doing as good work as I would if things were diferent, but—I am at least content, if not happy.”