"Indeed? Was he brought up in England, then?"
"Brought up" was too idiomatic for Vronsky. When it had been explained he said, "Part one, part de oder. Part England, part France. His moder veuve depuis longtemps."
This likewise had to be explained.
"I would say she have no more a man," said Vronsky, making confusion worse confounded by his explanation.
This difficulty, however, was also solved. And he went on to mention casually that his nephew and he had come from France together about six months before—a time when, as the detective, whose name, by the bye, was Burnett, knew, Felix Vanston was in jail. There was an air of genial simplicity about Vronsky, a kindliness in his beautiful soft dark eyes, which was misleading. Burnett had found out from inquiries that he was an engineer, an inventor, who had come to push his patent. He did not see how he could be a member of the Anarchist gang which had sucked poor Felix in. Moreover, probabilities considered, he could hardly be at Basingstoke by appointment.
He owned candidly that he had risked all he had in order to bring his patent to the notice of prominent English mine owners, so that his "neveu" had been obliged to find work meanwhile to support himself. Now he hoped that all was plain sailing. Then he wished them good-night and went to bed, leaving Burnett pretty sure that he had missed the clew somewhere, and determined to take the last train to Plymouth, and try to pick it up there, before wasting more time in Basingstoke.
He was nowhere to be seen when Felix stepped ashore next morning. The young man hurried to his work, for he had sat up to write to Rona and overslept in consequence. At the dinner-hour he went to the post-office to see, before posting his letter, whether there was one for him. The spy was still not in sight, and the glorious idea that he had departed rejoiced the heart of Felix. There was a letter for him. It was written on very thick paper, with a crest in purple upon the envelope. He stared at the crest, which was his own. Rona's clear, immature hand had addressed the letter; but it was obviously written on Normansgrave stationery.
He had promised to look in on Vronsky at dinner-time, and have some bread and cheese with him, so he hastened to the inn without opening the letter, or posting his own. At the first possible moment he broke the seal, and read the contents with surprise.
Rona was in his brother's house. She described it with rapture. She was evidently treated as an equal, and as evidently found this quite natural. They were very kind, she had never been so happy. She was glad and thankful that David had pulled her back when she tried to fling herself upon the railway.
Inclosed with her letter was a brief, kind note from Miss Rawson, saying that they were much interested in Rona, and could see that the two young people were guarding some kind of a secret. They were ready to befriend the girl in a substantial way, but this must be upon condition of perfect frankness on his part. They hoped that he would come, on his return from Basingstoke, and explain to them in confidence how he and his sister came to be in such a plight, as they saw quite well that Rona was a well-brought-up girl, carefully educated, and they realized that some strong reason for her unaccountable destitution must exist.