Instantly there darted into Pansy’s mind a quick suspicion:
“She has laid another trap for me.”
And she braced herself to bear anything unflinchingly.
The door opened again, and Mr. Finley, the grocer, her hated stepfather, entered the room.
Pansy grew pale, but, still holding her book, she arose in a stately way, fixing on the intruder a cold glance of inquiry.
Mr. Finley, coming in from the outer daylight into the semigloom of the parlor, did not at first see very clearly. He bowed profoundly to both ladies, in an awkward way, and began to speak briskly:
“Mrs. Falconer, I am a grocer, and enjoyed the custom and confidence of the late Mrs. Ives. I have called to solicit——” He stopped and stared. The beautiful face looking at him struck him with fear and terror.
He made a retrograde movement toward the door, keeping his bewildered eyes on her face, and then he caught a glance from Juliette’s eyes that suddenly loosened his tongue.
He stopped short, exclaiming:
“Heavens, I can’t be mistaken! It—is—she! Mrs. Falconer, excuse me, please, but are you not my missing stepdaughter, Pansy Laurens?”