"Not until I am twenty-five; within a few days now."
"And your mother?"
"She died at my birth."
West leaned forward eagerly. "It is the estate then that troubles you?" he asked swiftly. "You imagine it has wasted?"
"No, not at all. They tell me it has increased in value. My father's lawyer assures me as to this. Percival Coolidge is a good business man, but something strange is going on behind the scenes. I cannot talk with the lawyer about it; I can scarcely be sure myself. I—I am simply up against a mystery I am unable to solve. Everywhere I turn I run into a blank wall."
"But I do not understand."
"How could you expect to, when it is so utterly obscure to me? I seem to be fighting against a ghost."
"A ghost!"
"Yes; now don't laugh at me! Do you suppose I would ever have done anything as reckless as advertising for help if I had not been actually desperate? Can you imagine a respectable girl performing so ridiculous an act, as putting her whole trust in a stranger, inviting him to her home, introducing him as her promised husband to her relatives and friends? Why, it almost proves me crazed, and, in a measure, I think I must be. But it is because I have exhausted all ordinary methods. I do not seem to be opposing anything of flesh and blood; I am fighting against shadows. I cannot even explain my predicament to another."
"You must try," he insisted firmly, affected by her evident distress. "I must be told everything if I am to be of any value. A half way confidence can accomplish nothing."