In the meantime, Mrs. Zant led the way to her rooms.
The first words she spoke showed that the landlady had succeeded but too well in prejudicing her against Mr. Rayburn.
“Will you let me ask your child,” she said to him, “why you think me mad?”
He met this strange request with a firm answer.
“You don’t know yet what I really do think. Will you give me a minute’s attention?”
“No,” she said positively. “The child pities me, I want to speak to the child. What did you see me do in the Gardens, my dear, that surprised you?” Lucy turned uneasily to her father; Mrs. Zant persisted. “I first saw you by yourself, and then I saw you with your father,” she went on. “When I came nearer to you, did I look very oddly—as if I didn’t see you at all?”
Lucy hesitated again; and Mr. Rayburn interfered.
“You are confusing my little girl,” he said. “Allow me to answer your questions—or excuse me if I leave you.”
There was something in his look, or in his tone, that mastered her. She put her hand to her head.
“I don’t think I’m fit for it,” she answered vacantly. “My courage has been sorely tried already. If I can get a little rest and sleep, you may find me a different person. I am left a great deal by myself; and I have reasons for trying to compose my mind. Can I see you tomorrow? Or write to you? Where do you live?”