She preceded him
up-stairs to the sitting-room, where, leaving the door ajar, she seated
herself on the opposite side of the room and waited.
He fidgeted, then spoke rapidly.
"Mrs. Cresswell--this is a personal affair." She reddened angrily. "A
love affair"--she paled with something like fear--"and I"--she started
to speak, but could not--"I want to know what you think about Zora?"
"About Zora!" she gasped weakly. The sudden reaction, the revulsion of
her agitated feelings, left her breathless.
"About Zora. You know I loved her dearly as a boy--how dearly I have
only just begun to realize: I've been wondering if I understood--if I
wasn't--"
Mrs. Cresswell got angrily to her feet.
"You have come here to speak to me of that--that--" she choked, and Bles
thought his worst fears realized.
"Mary, Mary!" Colonel Cresswell's voice broke suddenly in upon them.
With a start of fear Mrs. Cresswell rushed out into the hall and closed
the door.
"Mary, has that Alwyn nigger been here this afternoon?" Mr. Cresswell
was coming up-stairs, carrying his riding whip.
"Why, no!" she answered, lying instinctively before she quite realized
what her lie meant. She hesitated. "That is, I haven't seen him. I must
have nodded over my book,"--looking toward the little verandah at the
front of the upper hall, where her easy chair stood with her book.
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