She began to question him. Lightly and apparently carelessly, interspersed with observations about the flowers, she turned the conversation on the Maze, asking this, and remarking that.
"Lonely it must be for Mrs. Grey? Oh, yes. How long has she lived there, Mr. Smith?"
"She came--let me see. Shortly, I think, before Mrs. Andinnian's death."
"Ah, yes. At the time Sir Karl was staying here."
"Was Sir Karl staying here? By the way, yes, I think he was."
Miss Blake, toying with a spray of the flourishing clematis, happened to look suddenly at Mr. Smith as he gave the answer, and saw his glance turned covertly on her through his green glasses. "He knows all about it," she thought, "and is screening Sir Karl. That last answer, the pretended non-remembrance, was an evasion. Men invariably hold by one another in matters of this kind. Just for a moment there was a silence.
"Mr. Smith, you may trust me," she then said in a low tone. "I fancy that you and I both know pretty well who it was brought the lady here and why she lives in that seclusion. But I could never have believed it of Sir Karl Andinnian."
Mr. Smith in his surprise--and it looked like very genuine
surprise--took off his glasses and gazed at Miss Blake without them. He had rather fine brown eyes, she noticed. Not a word spoke he.
"You wonder that I should speak of this, Mr. Smith--I see that."
"I don't understand you, ma'am, and that's the truth."