It was quite a new role for her, the role of Good Samaritan. She smiled faintly as she thought that. How would she play it?
After tea she wrote this note:
“ADELPHI HOTEL, Tuesday
“DEAR MR. ROBERTSON,—As you will not know who I am, I must explain myself. My husband, Sir Carey Ingleton, is Ambassador at Constantinople. Out there we have made acquaintance with Mr. Dion Leith, who had the terrible misfortune to kill his little boy nearly a year and a half ago. I want very much to speak to you about him. I will explain why when I see you if you have the time to spare me an interview. I would gladly welcome you here, or I could come to you. Which do you prefer? I am telling the messenger to wait for an answer. To be frank, I have come to Liverpool on purpose to see you.—Yours sincerely,
“DELIA INGLETON”
The messenger came back without an answer. Father Robertson was out, but the note would be given to him as soon as he came home.
That evening, just after nine o’clock, he arrived at the hotel, and sent up his name to Lady Ingleton.
“Please ask him to come up,” she said to the German waiter who had mispronounced his name.
As she waited for her visitor she was conscious of a faint creeping of shyness through her. It made her feel oddly girlish. When had she last felt shy? She could not remember. It must have been centuries ago.
The German waiter opened the door and a white-haired man walked in. Directly she saw him Lady Ingleton lost her unusual feeling. As she greeted him, and made her little apology for bothering him, and thanked him for coming out at night to see a stranger, she felt glad that she had obeyed her impulse and had been, for once, a victim to altruism. When she looked at his eyes she knew that she would not mind saying to him all she wanted to say about Dion Leith. They were eyes which shone with clarity; and they were something else—they were totally incurious eyes. Perhaps from perversity Lady Ingleton had always rebelled against giving to curious people the exact food they were in search of.