“You are right, Miss Macallister; and something should be done about it.” Clark spoke with so much feeling that she glanced at him with deepened interest. “Her father is so absorbed in his grief that he never notices his daughter’s condition.”
“It is a shame,” agreed Peggy, “and yet, not surprising. He was perfectly devoted to Mrs. Trevor, and Senator Phillips says he is heartbroken by her tragic death.”
“That is no excuse for neglecting the living. Mr. Trevor owes much to his daughter’s affection.” Peggy did not see the quickly suppressed sneer that distorted Clark’s handsome features. “Miss Trevor acts as if she had something preying on her mind, don’t you think so?”
Peggy clutched the box secreted so carefully inside her muff in sudden panic. What did the man’s insinuation mean?
“No,” she answered tartly. “I think her nervous, over-wrought condition is simply due to the tragedy, and its attending mystery.”
“Mystery?” echoed Clark. “Why, all that has been cleared up by Gordon’s arrest.”
“Indeed it has not,” indignantly declared Peggy. “I don’t for a moment believe him guilty. I think he is the victim of circumstantial evidence.” Her rapid speech was interrupted by their arrival at her street corner, and she did not finish her sentence until they stood in the vestibule of the Macallister mansion. “In the first place, Mr. Clark,” she continued, “where would you find a motive for such a crime?”
“In Gordon’s past, Miss Macallister.” And, as Hurley opened the front door, “Good night; thanks so much for allowing me to escort you home.”
He ran down the steps and walked rapidly up the street before the astonished girl could frame another sentence.