"His wife, I suppose," said the Governor, wearily.
Phillips shook his head.
"Ilingsworth was a widower," he explained.
"It must be his daughter, then—he has a daughter, so it seems," he said, tapping the printed case. "Doesn't she give her name? No? Well, tell her to come in, then."
The private secretary went out as directed, and a moment later the new visitor entered.
In a glance the Governor saw that although she was simply and poorly clad, she was a woman of great beauty; and presently he said:
"You are Miss Ilingsworth?"
The woman turned her lustrous dark blue eyes full upon him—eyes full of sorrow, full of appeal; they troubled the Governor.
"I am not Miss Ilingsworth," she returned in a strong, rich, full voice, vibrant with pathos. "I have no card. My name is Madeline Braine. I'm a saleswoman in Satterthwaite's department store in New York."