It had not been necessary to pretend to much admiration, for Mrs. Furneau was a charming woman. But where Margaret’s fate might be even slightly concerned I had none of the scruples I might otherwise have felt. Therefore, I had made my admiration for the lady more evident than was perhaps necessary, hoping for the time when our growing intimacy might give me the opportunity to question her suddenly about my sister and possibly learn something, if there were anything to learn, for my former suspicion of her had somehow faded, as I knew her better.
So, about half-past three, I pulled myself together, assumed a most cynical and disillusioned expression, and set forth for her house.
Our conversation that afternoon, before the arrival of her other guests, was of a more or less personal nature and consisted mainly of subtleties, of which the lady was a past mistress.
Once, however, she referred to the subject never absent from my thoughts: “Jack,” she said, after a pause and speaking a little wistfully, I thought, “have you really given up all hope of finding your sister?”
She reached out and touched my hand delicately, to soften the reminder if she could.
I nodded. “What’s the use? I’ve looked everywhere and it’s hopeless. Don’t let’s talk about it. Don’t worry about it, but let me go to the devil in my own way.” I smiled bitterly.
I glanced away from her, but when I looked back again her eyes were on me with a keenness of scrutiny that I had never seen before in them. There was a little furrow between her pretty brows too. But she contented herself with—“It doesn’t seem like you, somehow.”
“Perhaps not!” I retorted. “But when there isn’t a single shred of a trace to go on, what can I do?”
She hesitated a moment. “I didn’t ask just to hurt you. I expect Mrs. Fawcette here this afternoon, later on. It was at her house that I took Margaret to luncheon that wretched day, you remember. And I did not know whether you would rather see her again and perhaps question her further, or go away before she comes. She went away, you remember, soon after that, on one of her globe-trotting jaunts or something. And I thought, perhaps——”
“Oh, I don’t mind seeing her again, if that’s what you mean,” I answered, though I had never even thought of questioning Mrs. Fawcette very closely, except to verify the fact that Margaret had left with Mrs. Furneau a little after five. And I realized at that moment that perhaps I had been careless there.