She had looked forward to spending some hours in the society of her lover. The excitement of the detective business in which they proposed to engage for the rest of the day would have taken her out of herself, and kept alive the courage which flagged sorely now and again, as she confronted the apparently insoluble problem of her beloved father’s disappearance.
Her luncheon finished, she went into her own dainty little sitting-room and tried to read. But she could not focus her attention. Her thoughts strayed away from the printed page, and at last she flung down the book impatiently.
“I wish that I had insisted on going down to Brighton with Austin,” she said to herself. “I think I must get out. I shall go mad if I stop within these four walls.”
As she was making up her mind, the door opened, and old Grant entered.
“A lady would like to see you. Miss,” he said. “She says her name is Saxton and that you know her, as she is Mr Farloe’s sister. She says she has been here once, but I don’t seem to remember her.”
Sheila was immediately interested. Their acquaintance was of the slightest. She recalled the incident at the post-office, and wondered what was the object of the visit.
“Yes, she came once to a big party. Grant. You have shown her into the drawing-room, I suppose? I will see her.”
She went at once to the drawing-room. Mrs Saxton rose as she entered, and advanced towards her with outstretched hand, her pretty, rather hard features subdued to an expression of deep sympathy.
“My dear Miss Monkton, I do hope you will not regard my visit as an intrusion,” she exclaimed fussily. “But, owing to my brother’s connection with your family, I was bound to know something of what has happened. And I feel so deeply for you.”
Sheila replied with some conventional phrase, but her manner was constrained and cold. Mrs Saxton was acting, no doubt to the best of her capacity, but there was an absence of sincerity in voice and glance.