“My darling Cora, what a question!”
“Oh, I am glad!” Mrs. Hartsilver exclaimed. “I don’t know how I should live if you went away. You are the only friend I have; you are, really. Tell me, did your father or mother—I beg your pardon ‘stepmother’—say anything about Stephen Lethbridge? You have read about the tragedy, of course.”
“Indeed I have, and I at once thought of you. Yes, they were full of it last night. My father said he saw Stephen less than ten days ago, and was struck by the change that had come over him.”
“How—‘change’?”
“He said he looked years older than when he saw him a month ago, and he mentioned the fact to my stepmother at the time. Then he said that strange-looking people had been staying at Abbey Hall lately.”
“Men or women?”
“Men. There were rumors, too, my father said, that Stephen had become financially embarrassed.”
“Really? But he was so well off, or supposed to be.”
“I know. That adds to the mystery. I suppose there was a woman, or women, in the case. I see in to-day’s paper that an inquest will be held.”
Cora did not answer. She was staring out of the window towards Regent’s Park—the house was in Park Crescent—with troubled eyes, as though her thoughts were miles away.