“Well, before night anyhow; as—as early this evening as possible.”
The voice was strained and tired, desperately tired. It was not peevish. It was even rather pleasant.
“What is the case, Mr. Reed?”
He hesitated. “It is not illness. It is merely—the governess has gone and there are two small children. We want some one to give her undivided attention to the children.”
“I see.”
“Are you a heavy sleeper, Miss Adams?”
“A very light one.” I fancied he breathed freer.
“I hope you are not tired from a previous case?” I was beginning to like the voice.
“I’m quite fresh,” I replied almost gayly. “Even if I were not, I like children, especially well ones. I shan’t find looking after them very wearying, I’m sure.”
Again the odd little pause. Then he gave me the address on Beauregard Square, and asked me to be sure not to be late.