“Yes,” graciously, won instantly by the man's appearance and manner, “you wished to see me? Will you be seated?”
He crossed the narrow room to the stiff-backed chair indicated, and the lady sank negligently down into her own, resting her head against a pillow, and regarding him expectantly. He could view her now much more distinctly, observing the slight difference in age, the fuller lips, the darker shade of the hair, and the varied expression of the eyes. It was as if a different soul looked forth from the same face. He had never before realized how little, apparently trifling, details marked the human countenance, and, embarrassed by her own scrutiny, his glance swept about the room. Misunderstanding this shifting of eyes, Miss Christie sought to place the man more at ease.
“The room is a perfect fright,” she observed briskly, “but what can one expect in these mushroom towns? Really I had never been here before, or I shouldn't have come. They pay good money though for talent, and we all have to live, you know. Are—are you in professional work?”
He shook his head, smiling, somewhat perplexed at his reception.
“Really I didn't suppose you were,” she went on, “you don't look it. But there are so many who come to me to help them, that I have grown suspicious of every stranger. May I ask why you desired to see me?”
Another suspicion had taken possession of her mind, for the men of that section were never backward in exhibiting admiration, yet somehow this man did not seem exactly of that kind.
“I came merely because I was sent for, Miss Maclaire,” he replied, his gray eyes once again upon her face. “Doctor Fairbain gave me your message; I am Jack Keith.”
She looked the complete astonishment she felt, sitting up in the chair, her eyes filled with questioning doubt.
“Doctor Fairbain! My message! Surely you are mistaken? I know no one of that name, and have sent no message.”
“You did not express a desire to see me?”