Mary Louise did not appear at dinner. She begged to be left alone in her room. Sarah took her some toast and tea, with honest sympathy in her eyes, but the sorrowing girl shook her head and would not taste the food. Later, however, in the evening, she entered the living room where the others sat in depressed silence and said:
“Please, Mr. Conant, tell me all you know about—mother.”
“It is very little, my dear” replied the lawyer in a kindly tone. “This morning I received a message from your grandfather which said: ‘Poor Beatrice passed away on Monday and at her request her body was cremated to-day. Be very gentle in breaking the sad news to Mary Louise.’ That was all, my child, and I came here as quickly as I could. In a day or so we shall have further details, I feel sure. I am going back to town in the morning and will send you any information I receive.”
“Thank you,” said the girl, and was quietly leaving the room when Irene called to her.
“Mary Louise!”
“Yes?” half turning.
“Will you come with me to my room?”
“Now?”
“Yes. You know I cannot go up the stairs. And—I lost my own dear mother not long ago, you will remember.”
Tears started to the girl’s eyes, but she waited until Irene wheeled her chair beside her and then the two went through the den to Irene’s room.
Mrs. Conant nodded to Peter approvingly.
“Irene will comfort her,” she said, “and in a way far better than I might do. It is all very dreadful and very sad, Peter, but the poor child has never enjoyed much of her mother’s society and when the first bitter grief is passed I think she will recover something of her usual cheerfulness.”
“H-m,” returned the lawyer; “it seems a hard thing to say, Hannah, but this demise may prove a blessing in disguise and be best for the child’s future happiness. In any event, I’m sure it will relieve the strain many of us have been under for the past ten years.”
“You talk in riddles, Peter.”
“The whole thing is a riddle, Hannah. And, by the way, have you noticed anything suspicious about our hired girl?”
“About Sarah? No,” regarding him with surprise.
“Does she—eh—snoop around much?”
“No; she’s a very good girl.”
“Too good to be true, perhaps,” observed Peter, and lapsed into thought. Really, it wouldn’t matter now how much Sarah Judd—or anyone else—knew of the Hathaway case. The mystery would solve itself, presently.
CHAPTER XXII
THE FOLKS AT BIGBEE’S
Mr. Conant decided to take the Friday morning train back to Dorfield, saying it would not be possible for him to remain at the Lodge over Sunday, because important business might require his presence in town.
“This demise of Mrs. Burrows,” he said confidentially to his wife in the privacy of their room, “may have far-reaching results and turn the whole current of Colonel Weatherby’s life.”