Lucille dressed with absolute disregard of detail, a novel experience, as her personal appearance usually was a consideration which loomed large on her horizon, and generally consumed a good part of two hours of every morning. Loving luxury, the idol of an indulgent father, she had spent twenty-six indolent years, petted by men and gossiped about by women. She had made her debut into Washington society upon her eighteenth birthday and, in spite of the many predictions of her approaching engagement to this man and that, one season had followed another and she still remained unmarried.
Her father, Julian Hull, by courtesy a colonel, was a first cousin of John Meredith, and at one time a business associate. But unlike Colonel Hull, John Meredith had early deserted the stock-brokerage field and devoted his financial interests and his business ability to banking. He had climbed rapidly in his chosen profession, and finally attained the presidency of one of the oldest banks in the District of Columbia, a position which he had held until, upon advice of Doctor McLane, he had resigned owing to ill health. The brokerage firm of Hull and Armstrong had likewise prospered and, upon the death of its junior member, his son, Gerald Armstrong, had been taken into partnership, a partnership which, rumor predicted, would culminate in his marriage to Lucille.
Lucille and her father were frequent week-end visitors at Ten Acres, and Lucille was often called upon to act as hostess at dinners and dances when Mrs. Marshall Meredith was not present. John Meredith’s affection for his niece, Anne, and his cousin’s daughter had appeared to be about equally divided until Anne graduated from her convent school and came, as he expressed it, to make her home permanently with her uncle. Her half-shy, wholly charming manner, her old-world courtesy and consideration for others, and her delicate, almost ethereal beauty had made instant appeal, and John Meredith had been outspoken in his affectionate admiration. His marked preference for Anne had brought no appreciable alteration in the friendship between the cousins, and, in spite of the eight years difference in their ages, she and Lucille were inseparable companions.
It had been Meredith’s custom to have guests every week-end from January to June and from June to January at Ten Acres. He never wearied of improving the stately old mansion and its surrounding land and enjoyed having others share its beauty. Anne’s nineteenth birthday anniversary two days before had proved the occasion for much jollification, but the house party, to the surprise of Mrs. Meredith, had only included Lucille Hull, Sam Hollister and Gerald Armstrong. The arrival of David Curtis just in time to be present at the birthday dinner had aroused only a temporary interest in the blind surgeon and a feeling of pity, tinged with admiration on Anne’s part, for Curtis’ plucky acceptance of the fate meted out to him. What had occasioned surprise was Meredith’s absorption in his blind guest the night of the dinner and the following day; then had come his interview with his sister-in-law and the peremptory statement of his wishes respecting a marriage between Anne and David Curtis. In every way it had proved an eventful Sunday, ending with John Meredith’s suicide.
Lucille checked her rapid walk down the corridor only to collide with some vigor with David Curtis as she turned the corner leading from her bedroom into the main hallway.
“Oh, ah—excuse me!” she gasped, as he put out a steadying hand. “Let me pick up your cane,” and before he could stop her she had stooped to get it.
“Thank you,” he said, as she put the cane back in his hand. “It was awkward of me to drop it. I hope that I did not startle you, Miss Hull?”
Lucille looked at him queerly for a moment, “Miss Hull,” she repeated. “Why not Anne Meredith?”
“No. Miss Hull,” his smile was very engaging; and again she noted the deep blue of his sightless eyes.
“You are very quick to guess identities, Doctor Curtis,” she remarked. “Are you coming downstairs?”