‘Oh, Mr. May!’ she said; then paused and added, hurriedly, ‘Montressor is out, and I am just going to fetch Edie from the rehearsal. I am so sorry I cannot ask you to come in.’ He thought she stood against the door defending it, and keeping him at arm’s length.
‘It does not matter,’ he said. ‘I had—no time to come in. I wanted to find out from Montressor the address—of a friend.’
‘What friend?’ said the woman, quickly.
‘He must have told you, Mrs. Montressor, of the discovery we made: that his friend May—was—my father: no more than that: though it had been kept from me and I didn’t know.’
‘Oh, no, Mr. Sandford,’ cried Mrs. Montressor, ‘that was a mistake, I am sure. You see I know your real name. I found it out long ago, but I never told Montressor. No, no, Mr. Sandford, it is all a mistake. He is no relation of yours.’
A sudden gleam of hope lit up John’s mind, but faded instantly.
‘He is my father,’ he said, ‘there can be no mistake.’
‘Oh, no, no,’ said the woman, beginning to cry. ‘It can’t be, it shan’t be; there is none of that man’s blood in you.’
‘Hush,’ said John, ‘he is my father. Tell me where I can find him; that is the best you can do for me, Mrs. Montressor.’
‘I can’t, then,’ she said, ‘I don’t know. I will tell you frankly he has been here, but I would not have him; I know him of old: and where he is now I don’t know.’