"Mr. Ames, will you pardon me for asking you a question of the most intimate character? It is only after much hesitation that I do so."
I bowed encouragingly, my curiosity fully aroused.
"You may ask me anything in the world, Miss Hollister."
"Then I wish you would tell me whether,—I can't express the dislike I feel in doing this,—but can you tell me whether you have seen in the hands of my niece Cecilia a small—a very small, silver-backed note-book."
"Yes, I have," I answered, greatly surprised.
"And may I ask whether,—and again I must plead my deep concern as an excuse for making such an inquiry,—whether you by any chance saw her making any notation in that book?"
I recalled the silver-bound book perfectly, but had attached no importance to it; but if Cecilia's fortunes were so intimately related to it as Miss Hollister's manner implied, I felt that I must be careful of my answer. I was trying to recall the precise moment at which I had entered the library the preceding evening after Hume's departure, and while I was intent upon this my silence must have been prolonged. I felt obliged to make an answer of some sort, and yet I did not relish the thought of conveying information that might distress and embarrass a noble girl like Cecilia Hollister. Something in my face must have conveyed a hint of this inner conflict to Miss Hollister, for she rose suddenly, holding up her hand as though to silence me. She seemed deeply moved, and cried in agitation:—
"Do not answer me! The question was quite unfair,—quite unfair,—and yet I assure you that at the moment I made the inquiry, I felt justified."
She retreated toward the door as I rose; and then with her composure fully restored she courtesied gracefully.
"Luncheon here will be a buffet affair to-day, as I shall be engaged with matters of pastry. I'm sure, however, that you will find employment until dinner-time, when my house will be fully in order again."