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"The truth?" began the latter "Do you mean that you know where she is"... "If I knew that," replied Dr. Cumberly, "I should know everything; the mystery of the Palace Mansions murder would be a mystery no longer. But I know one thing: Mrs. Leroux's absence has nothing to do with any love affair." "What!" exclaimed Denise Ryland. "There isn't another man... in the case? You can't tell me"...
She hardly looks a day over fifteen, though she is two years older. "Will you not let her come for a whole day?" she entreats. "I get so lonesome. I can only see papa a little while, and he cannot talk to me. I get tired of reading and rambling about, and Denise is worried when I stay out any length of time." "Yes, if you can persuade her," and Grandon smiles down into the bright, eager face.
There was a pause, and Lory de Vasselot limped into the room after him. He was smiling and pleasant as he always was; even, his friends said, on the battlefield. He looked at Denise, met her eyes for a moment and turned to bow with grave politeness to Gilbert. It was, oddly enough, the colonel who brought forward a chair for the wounded man. "Sit down," he said curtly.
"The chevalier's room isn't fit for my mistress's sick niece," replied Belotti civilly, but resolutely. "Isn't it? And you know exactly?" asked his mistress scornfully. "Go down, Denise, and order the sedan-chair to be brought up. Have you anything more to say, Belotti?" "Yes, Padrona," replied the Italian, in a trembling voice. "I beg your excellenza to dismiss me."
A few minutes later Denise remembered the enclosure a letter in a thick white envelope, which was still lying on her desk. She opened it. "I think I have the pleasure of addressing the daughter of an old comrade-in-arms, and this must be my excuse for at once approaching my object. I hear by accident that you have inherited from the late Mattei Perucca his small property near Olmeta in Corsica.
Olaf van Noord rose to meet Helen Cumberly and Denise Ryland, advancing across the floor with the measured gait of a tragic actor. He greeted them aloofly, and a little negro boy proffered tiny cups of China tea. Denise Ryland distended her nostrils as her gaze swept the picture-covered walls; but she seemed to approve of the tea.
Denise glanced at him, and said nothing. And de Vasselot's breath came rather quickly. "But the Casa Perucca is at your disposal so long as you may choose to live there," he continued. "My father is to be buried at Olmeta to-morrow, but I cannot even remain to attend the funeral. So I need not assure you that I do not want the Casa Perucca for myself."
The lunch is up-stairs, for Violet is not allowed to leave the room, though all bruises and strains are well and the ankle is gaining every day. The father, mother, and child get on without any trouble, though Cecil is rather imperious at times. Denise will not have any one to help her, and she is in a little heaven of delight as she watches the two.
Yes, it is through her endeavor that his child is not marred and crushed, even if the great question of life is put aside. Does he not owe her something? She raises her head presently. Denise is sitting over by the window, Grandon nearer. "Is it true?" she asks, tearless now and sadly bewildered, all the pathos of desolation in her young voice, "is it true?
"Come back with me, then," says Floyd. "You can go over a little this evening, and keep it in your mind, then you can return when you are through. I want the matter settled, and the man's life hangs on a mere thread." Lindmeyer consents, and they travel up together. The day is at its close as they reach the little nest on the cliffs, but Denise gives Grandon a more than friendly welcome.
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