"
Lydia Sessions started galvanically. She pushed off her sister's
caressing hand with a fierce gesture.
"There's nothing--no such relation as you're hinting at, Elizabeth,
between Gray Stoddard and me," she said sharply. Memory of what Gray had
(as she supposed) followed her into the library to say to her wrung a
sort of groan from the girl. "I suppose Matilda's told you that we
had--had some conversation in the library," she managed to say.
Her brother-in-law shook his head.
"We haven't questioned the servants yet," he said briefly. "We haven't
questioned anybody nor hunted up any evidence. MacPherson came direct to
me from Stoddard's stable boy. Gray did stop and talk to you last night?
What did he say?"
"I--why nothing in--I really don't remember," faltered Lydia, with so
strange a look that both her sister and Hardwick looked at her in
surprise. "That is--oh, nothing of any importance, you know. I--I
believe we were talking about socialism, and--and different classes of
people.... That sort of thing."
MacPherson, who had pushed unceremoniously into the room behind his
employer, nodded his gray head. "That would always be what he was
speaking of." He smiled a little as he said it.
"All right," returned Hardwick, struggling into his overcoat at the
hat-tree, and seeking his hat and stick, "I'll go right back with you,
Mac.
Pages:
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286