"Miss Omar reads to me, Mr. Moriway. I'm an invalid, as you see, dependent on the good offices of my man. I find a woman's voice a soothing change."
"It must be. Particularly if the voice is pleasing. Miss Omar—I didn't quite catch the name—"
He waited. But Miss Omar had nothing to say that minute.
"Yes, that's the name. You've got it all right," said Latimer. "An uncommon name, isn't it?"
"I don't think I ever heard it before. Do you know, Miss Omar, as I heard your voice just before we got to the gate, it sounded singularly boyish to me."
"Mr. Latimer does not find it so—do you?" I said as sweet—as sweet as I could coax. How sweet's that, Tom Dorgan?
"Not at all." A little laugh came from Latimer as though he was enjoying a joke all by himself. But Moriway jumped with satisfaction. He knew the voice all right.
"Have you a brother, may I ask?" He leaned over and looked keenly at me.
"I am an orphan," I said sadly, "with no relatives."
"A pitiful position," sneered Moriway. "You look so much like a boy I know that—"