"Oh, you need not go. She will be back to tea, and I am not sorry to have a quiet talk with you, Mr. Hastings. I am interested in Mary Corbett. She is nearly alone in the world, and my sympathy goes out to such women. I have worked a great deal for societies dealing with women's status and employment, and am most anxious to see a revision of the laws which at present press too heavily on my sex. Come, tell me all about yourself, your present position, your prospects—everything."
The story I told her would not have done discredit to a weaver of romance, and she was so sympathetic a listener that I felt a little ashamed of myself for practicing such deception.
"I think I am satisfied," she said at last, "and I judge you have a soul above the mere commercial side of a surveyor's business—that the beautiful has an appeal to you. Do you know anything about this house?"
"I believe part of it is old," I said.
"Very old," she returned. "I like modern comforts, but I love the old things too. We have a few minutes before tea and Mary's return. I will show you the old part of Lantern House, if you like. I have tried to give the rooms their original appearance, and am rather proud of my achievement."
She was giving me an opportunity which I could hardly have expected, a chance of seeing something which would give me a clew to the mystery concerning her. I might have known better what to look for if only the professor had been more explicit.
Talking pleasantly, calling my attention to a view from a window, or to some unique piece of furniture, Mrs. Barrymore led me through several rooms, the contents of which told of the wealth and taste of the mistress of the house.
"I only use the old rooms on great occasions," she said, as we passed from a small boudoir into a dim passage. "I have thought of letting the public see them on certain days on payment of a small fee for the benefit of some charity, but I have not quite made up my mind. It would cut into my privacy a little, and in some ways I am selfish. There are two steps down, Mr. Hastings."
She had opened a door and preceded me into a room, Tudor in its construction, Tudor in its contents—at least, I suppose the contents were all in keeping, but I had not sufficient knowledge to be quite definite upon the point. The effect, if somewhat stiff and severe, was pleasing.
"A Philistine friend of mine complains of the somberness," said Mrs. Barrymore, "and wants me to have the electric light here as it is in the rest of the house. Fancy Henry the Eighth wooing his many wives under the electric light! Why, they would almost have seen what a villain he was. Sit down for a moment, Mr. Hastings, and imagine yourself back across the centuries. It was just such a chair as that which the fat king used when he talked statecraft or divorce with Wolsey."