“That is neither here nor there,” interrupted Ogden, rudely. “Have you seen this miniature of which Ethel speaks?”
“No, never,” Mrs. Ogden reread a paragraph in the paper. “Strange she never showed it to me!”
“And the ring”—Ogden rumpled his heavy white hair until it stood upright. “Was the ring given to her by James Patterson or Julian Barclay?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
“Seems to me,” Ogden rose abruptly, “it’s time you found out what is taking place in this house,” and he banged out of the room before his astonished wife could question his meaning.
Mrs. Ogden contemplated her reflection in the mirror in indecision; she was more perturbed than she cared to admit even to herself. Completing her dressing with no sign of haste, she summoned her maid and ordered her breakfast served in her bedroom, and between dainty bites of hot toast and marmalade again read the newspaper account of the inquest; but she did not linger over the particular paragraphs which had so excited her husband, instead concentrating her attention on Julian Barclay’s testimony. At last throwing the paper aside, she wrote out the menu for the day, the orders for the grocer and the market man, and dispatched them to her cook by Celeste, and with the relief occasioned by having completed her morning’s work, she went in search of Ethel.
A faint “Come in” answered Mrs. Ogden’s determined rap on Ethel’s bedroom door, but she stopped abruptly just over the threshold on beholding the room in darkness.
“Bless me! Why don’t you pull up the shades, Ethel?” she asked. “Do you know it’s nearly noon?” And not waiting for a reply, she hurried across the room and pushed aside the blinds. “Brr! every window open!” she ejaculated, shivering. “And the steam heat turned off. Ethel, you are incorrigible! Do you want to have pneumonia?”
“No such luck!” muttered Ethel, and Mrs. Ogden, busily turning on the cock of the steam radiator missed the remark. “Do you want me for anything, Cousin Jane?” throwing back the bedcovers as she spoke.
“Just to chat with you,” Mrs. Ogden ensconced herself in a big chair, first taking the precaution to slip on Ethel’s sweater which lay on a near-by sofa. “My goodness, Ethel, I don’t believe you slept a wink last night!” getting a good look at her as she moved toward her bureau.