“As companion to your sister?”
“Yes,” replied Duncan for the third time.
The Admiral turned in his chair and made sure that no one was in their vicinity, then leaned toward Duncan. “Marjorie Langdon was my secretary for the past two years; on November first, I discharged her because I found she was a thief.”
For a second Duncan was blind to his surroundings. But Admiral Lawrence read nothing of his mental suffering in his expressionless face. Marjorie then was really a thief! Marjorie, his ideal in womanhood! His strong hands clenched themselves so tightly over the arms of his chair that the knuckles shone white. He had succeeded in conquering the suspicions he had harbored against Marjorie after the mysterious disappearance of his father’s forty dollars. Marjorie, if guilty of the theft of the money, would never have mentioned the exact sum, one hundred and fifty dollars, when she handed him the bank notes to give his father. She must have been innocent, he had reasoned, with dogged determination. Now another man thought her a thief!
“I would not have disclosed her true character had I not heard that Marjorie was with your sister continually,” said the Admiral slowly. “It is not proper that a young girl should be subjected to such contaminating influences.”
“One moment,” Duncan held up his hand protestingly. “You have made a serious charge, Admiral, against Miss Langdon; can you prove your statements?”
The Admiral whitened with anger. “I am not in the habit of lying,” he retorted stiffly.
“Nor am I accusing you of lying,” calmly. “But in my father’s absence you have come to me, as the acting head of my house, to warn me against one of my father’s employees. I am within my rights, sir, in demanding your proofs that Miss Langdon is a ——” Duncan choked over the word thief—“is not a proper associate for my sister.”
“Perhaps you are right,” admitted the Admiral, his anger cooling. “I presume you have met my wife’s nephew by marriage, Chichester Barnard——”
“I have.”