She had hoped to frighten her sister into measures, but she saw there was about as much possibility of that, as there was in frightening a desperado into giving himself into the hands of the authorities.
With little outward evidence of the disappointment she really felt, Leonie again wrapped the veil about her head and left the room.
For some time Evelyn Chandler stood there, seeming to be thinking deeply.
"She means every word that she has said," she muttered, below her breath. "She was a typewriter in a lawyer's office long enough to have absorbed some of their knowledge, and will, therefore, know exactly how to go to work. I cannot sit still and let her succeed, as undoubtedly she will if I do not immediately take measures of precaution; but what shall they be? I cannot consult my adopted father. Therefore, there is but one course left—I must consult my own father. Bah!"
The sentence was concluded with a shiver of repulsion, but it vanished almost before it had existed.
She sat down and took her chin in her hands, a favorite position when in deep thought.
"It is the only way!" she cried, at last. "Let me see! I have an engagement with my dressmaker at this hour, but when that is ended, we shall see what Ben Mauprat can suggest. A man who has been a scoundrel all his life certainly ought to be able to thwart a single-handed girl."
[CHAPTER XVII.]
"Mr. Pryor, will you require my services this afternoon?"