Chapter Twenty Four.
It’s a Queer World.
Edward Hallett and—Charmion! Charmion and—Edward Hallett! The combination of those two names struck me dumb. Oh, it was madness—the most inconceivable, the most preposterous madness. And yet, and yet—the more I thought, the more the links seemed to “fit in”. He was of the right age, the right nationality: the few words of description which had fallen from her lips applied accurately to his appearance.
I went home, and sat in stunned silence, staring into space. I went to bed and lay awake for hours, still pondering, still puzzling. I rose in the morning, and wandered about the flat like a lost dog, unable to work, unable to rest, unable to eat. By evening I was in such a state of nerves that it seemed impossible to endure the suspense a moment longer. The prospect of another wakeful night gave the final touch to my impatience. I scribbled a note to Mr Thorold, begging him to come down at once, and sent the orphan upstairs to deliver it.
He came at once; quite anxious and perturbed. Was I ill? Had I had bad news? Was there anything he could do? I motioned him to a chair, and began vaguely:—
“Not bad news—at least—a shock! I’ve had a shock! It has distressed me terribly! I couldn’t sleep. It was Mr Travers. I was reading to him again yesterday, and he said something about Mr Hallett. It appears that he knew him years ago.”
Mr Thorold’s face hardened. I had seen him in almost every phase of sadness and anxiety, but never with that flash in the eye, that sternness of the lips. His voice was cold and sharp.
“Travers? Indeed! And what had Travers to say? Nothing good, if I know the man.”
“He—he spoke of Mr Hallett’s wife—”
“And you were not aware that he had a wife? It is an old story, Miss Harding; an old sore. Is it necessary to tell one’s whole life history to—er—an—”