is it not terrible? What can I say to comfort you!”
Mrs. Frothingham’s distressed tones and her air of eager, intense sympathy met with little response from Pauline.
Haviland had been called from the room on an errand and Anita’s willingness to receive the neighbor’s condolences did not seem acceptable. The overdressed, forward-mannered widow continued to direct her attention entirely to Pauline, and that young woman merely surveyed her visitor coolly and replied in monosyllables.
“Thanks,” she said, and her icy air would have deterred a less determined intruder.
“I simply couldn’t help running over as soon as I heard the dreadful news. For we are neighbors after all, though not so very well acquainted; and neighbors have a camaraderie of their own, I think.”
“Yes?” said Pauline, and her eyelids fell slightly, with an expression of boredness.
“Yes, indeed,” Mrs. Frothingham rattled on; “and I said to our dear Count, we must run over at once, there may be something we can do for the saddened ones.”
“Thank you;” and had a marble statue been given vocal powers the effect would have been much the same.
“Dear friend,” continued the unabashed visitor, “I know how overcome you must be – ”
“I am not overcome at all,” said Pauline, rising, and determined to hear no more; “and I must beg to be excused, Mrs. Frothingham, as I have many matters to attend to this morning.”
“Ah, yes, of course, you have. We will not detain you. The Count and I merely called for a moment to inquire – ”
“Yes, I quite understand. Miss Frayne will be pleased to answer your inquiries. Thank you both, and – good-morning.”
With a polite but distant bow, Pauline left the room, and as Count Charlier sprang to hold the door open for her, he, after a moment’s hesitation, followed her out.
“A moment, I beg, Miss Stuart,” he said as they reached the hall; “You are offended at Mrs. Frothingham’s intrusion, but have I not a right to call? Was I not such a friend of Miss Carrington as to justify this tribute of respect to her memory?”
“Certainly, Count,” and Pauline grew a shade kinder, “but I am not sufficiently acquainted with your friend to receive her visits.”
“Ah, no. That is conceded. But, I pray you, tell me of the sad affair. I have heard no details, – that is, unless you would rather not.”
“No, I am not unwilling. You were a good friend of Aunt Lucy’s – she was fond of you, and I am glad to talk to some one. Let us sit here.” Pauline indicated a recessed seat in the hall and the pair sat there. She recounted briefly the story of the tragedy and the Count was duly sympathetic. Pauline watched him closely, and discerned great interest but little grief or sorrow.
“A burglar, of course,” said the Count hearing of the cruel weapon. “How could any one attack the charming lady! And the marvelous jewels she wore! They were, of course, stolen?”
“No; that’s the strange part. They were not.”
“Ah, how splendid!” and his absorbed air of satisfaction gave Pauline a thrill of disgust at his cold-bloodedness. “And now they are all yours? Those magnificent gems?”
“The property, most of it, is divided between my cousin and myself.”
“Your cousin? Mr. Haviland?”
“No; he is but a distant connection. I mean my first cousin, Mr. Loria, now in Egypt.”
“Ah, yes, I have heard Miss Carrington refer to him. He will come home?”
“I do not know. We have cabled of course. Count Charlier, do you remember hearing my aunt say, last evening, that she expected something to happen to her?”
“I remember, Miss Stuart.”
“Have you any idea what she meant?”
“I? But how could I know?”
“Answer my question, please.”
The Count’s eyes fell, and he shifted his feet about uneasily. At last he said: “It is not pleasant to say such things, but since you ask, I may be permitted to assume that the late Miss Carrington had a regard for my humble self.”
“And she expected, she – hoped that her regard might be returned?”
“It may be so.”
“And that last night you might tell her so?”
“You honor me.”
“Did you tell her so?”
“I did not, Miss Stuart. What might have happened had she lived I cannot say, but I did not, last evening, say any word to Miss Carrington of my aspiration to her hand.”
“Did you say anything that could have been taken as a hint that some time, say, in the near future, you might express such an aspiration?”
“I may have done so.”
“Thank you, Count Charlier. I had perhaps no right to ask, but you have answered my rather impertinent questions straightforwardly, and I thank you.”
Pauline rose, as if to end the interview. In the doorway appeared Anita. “Pauline,” she said, “I wish you would come back and listen to Mrs. Frothingham’s story. It seems to me of decided importance.”
“You have something to tell me?” asked Pauline, returning to the library and looking at the unwelcome neighbor with patient tolerance.
“Yes, Miss Stuart. Now, it may be nothing, – nothing, I mean, of consequence, that is, you may not think so, but I – ”
“Suppose you let me hear it and judge for myself.”
“Yes. Well, it’s only this. I was wakeful last night, or rather early this morning, and looking from my bedroom window, which faces this house, I saw a man climb out of a window on the first floor and skulk away among the shrubbery.”
“At what time was this?” and Pauline looked interested at last.
“About four o’clock. He was to all appearances a burglar – ”
“How could you tell? Was it not dark at that hour in the morning?”
“No; the moon is past full, you know, and it shone brightly in the western sky.”
“Enough for you to discern the man clearly?”
“I took a field-glass to assist my vision. He stealthily climbed out and skirting the bushes made his way swiftly toward the great gates.”
“This is indeed an important bit of information, Mrs. Frothingham; I dare say you ought to tell it to the police who are here.”
“Oh, I couldn’t! I’m so timid about such things! But, – if you would go with me, Miss Stuart – ”
“Miss
