“That Kitty’s aunt, Miss Susan Baird, was found dead this morning—”
“Great heavens!” Mrs. Parsons retreated a step in shocked surprise. “Oh, Mrs. Sutherland, so glad to see you. You know Mr. Craige, of course.” As the newcomer and the lawyer exchanged greetings, Mrs. Parsons saw Nina Potter and started toward her, but several guests claimed her attention and when she looked around Nina had vanished.
The room which served Benjamin Potter as a combination workshop and library was at the other end of the apartment which the elderly naturalist had leased upon his marriage to Nina Underwood six months before. The apartment house, one of those erected to meet the demands for housing wealthy war-workers who thronged the national Capital during the winter of 1917-1918, had but one apartment to each floor, and Potter had been gratified by having the best room, from his point of view, set aside for his exclusive use by his bride.
Mrs. Potter had also seen to it that the furniture was of the finest mahogany, the filing and specimen cases of the most approved models, while the leather-seated chairs and lounges added greatly to the comfort of the occupants of the room. No expense had been spared and for the first time in his hard-working, studious life, Ben Potter had found himself surrounded with every comfort which money could purchase.
Potter’s marriage to his pretty stenographer had been a severe shock to several impecunious relatives and a nine days’ wonder to his small world. He had taken the surprised comments and sometimes belated congratulations of both relatives and friends with the same placid good nature which characterized all his actions. Nina, with a tact for which she had not been credited, went out of her way to cultivate his friends, and if she felt the chilly reception accorded her, never by word or manner betrayed the fact.
Seated alone in his room and absorbed in his book, Potter was oblivious of the lengthening shadows and was only recalled to his surroundings by the opening of the door.
“Well, what is it?” he asked testily. “Oh!” At sight of his wife, his expression brightened. “I did not expect you home so soon.”
“Soon?” Nina laughed softly, as she brushed his unruly gray hair back from his forehead. “Have you no idea of the time? It is nearly six o’clock, and you should not be reading with only one light turned on. Doctor McLean must talk to you.”
Potter made a wry face. “I would rather listen to you than any doctor,” he said and pulled forward a chair close to his own. “Tell me, have you had a pleasant time at Mrs. Parsons’ tea?”
“Does one ever have a pleasant time at a tea?” Nina’s gesture was eloquent. “Where are your matches, dear?”—fumbling, as she spoke, with her cigarette case.