Mrs. Burnham drummed her knitting needles up and down on the arm of her chair in troubled silence.
“I disapprove of international marriages,” she said finally. “I have seen too many unhappy results; take, for instance, Marian Van Ness——” Her needles clicked loudly in the still room, and there was a decided pause before she added: “I don’t really know the rights of the case as Marian was married in Europe and passed her brief matrimonial career away from Washington, but,” again Mrs. Burnham paused, “but I agree with the diplomat who said: ‘Those whom the Atlantic has put asunder, let no man join together.’”
“You will have a difficult task convincing Evelyn of your viewpoint,” retorted Burnham. “If I don’t mistake the signs you may face an elopement, if, as I strongly suspect, Evelyn and René are carrying on a clandestine correspondence.”
Mrs. Burnham stooped to retrieve her ball of yarn which had rolled to the floor before she asked: “Where did you get that idea?”
“From Jones, whose mysterious manner when I met him carrying a box of flowers to Evelyn and delivering a note surreptitiously made me suspicious. I promptly told him to report to you hereafter whenever letters and packages were given him for Evelyn.”
“Quite right.” Mrs. Burnham spoke with decision. “We want no elopements; but upon my word, Peter, I could not help but like René La Montagne. If it were not for the fact that he is a foreigner and that he is personally objectionable to you——” She hesitated and cast a penetrating look at her husband who sat staring moodily at the floor. “He is still objectionable to you?” she asked.
“Yes, but why go into that?” he answered sharply, then yawned. “Upon my word, Lillian, I have had very little sleep lately; I believe I’ll go and take a nap.” As he spoke he rose and stretched himself, then took several indolent steps toward the door, but his wife’s next remark halted him on its threshold.
“Any news from Coroner Penfield?”
“Not a word.” Burnham rubbed his chin reflectively. “The police, according to the morning newspapers, have failed to discover the man’s identity.”
“Strange!” mused Mrs. Burnham. “And haven’t they ascertained why he was killed in this house?”