"Pleased to meet any friend of my niece's, ma'am," said he, familiarly. "And who may you be, if I may take the liberty to inquire?"
"My name is Rawson," said Aunt Bee, with a valiant attempt not to display the distaste she felt. "Are you—are you—staying near here?"
The man grinned unpleasantly. "Oh, yes, quite near," he said—"most convenient indeed."
"It is convenient," said Miss Rawson, whose mind, working with velocity under the stress of the moment, had determined that, as the man was there, he must be more or less propitiated and made use of. How thankful she felt that Denzil had so lately heard all of the affair that Rona and the Mother Superior could tell them! "I have been wishing to meet you, as your niece begins to feel that it is time she knew her own history."
The man looked at Rona. He looked at her from head to foot. It was a look that made Miss Rawson burn with disgust—such a look as the owner of a beautiful slave might cast over her points when bringing her to the slave market. The girl was charming. From head to heel she was worth looking at. Her form, her head, her wrists and ankles, her hands, and even such details as finger-nails and eye-lashes, were all exceptionally good. He gazed with the eye of the expert, appraising everything.
"She looks very well," he said, evidently trying to speak civilly.
"I think she is very well. She never ails anything," said Miss Rawson.
"May I ask how long she has lived with you, ma'am?" asked Mr. Leigh.
"For more than two years," replied the lady. She had by now decided what to say. "I came across her case in a hospital, and was much interested in her. She had been very badly hurt."
The man, still peering at Rona, licked his lips. "And you have taken upon yourself the burden of her ever since?" he said, with evident surprise. "I assure you, madam, you should have been relieved of your charge before this, had I known where to find my niece. She ran away from me. Perhaps she did not tell you that?"