It was a leading question which I was not surprised to see accompaniedby a very sharp look from beneath the cloudy wrap she had wound abouther head.
"You suspect some one or something," continued Mrs. Carew, with a returnof the indefinable manner which had characterized her in the beginningof our interview. "Whom? What?"
I should have liked to answer her candidly, and in the spirit, if notthe words, of the prophet of old, but her womanliness disarmed me. Withher eyes on me I could get no further than a polite acknowledgment ofdefeat.
"Mrs. Carew, I am all at sea. We shall have to begin again."
"Yes," she answered like an echo--was it sadly or gladly?--"you willhave to begin again." Then with a regretful accent: "And I can not helpyou, for I am going to sail to-morrow. I positively must go. Cablegramsfrom the other side hurry me. I shall have to leave Mrs. Ocumpaugh inthe midst of her distress."
"What time does your steamer sail, Mrs. Carew?"
"At five o'clock in the afternoon, from the Cunard docks."
"Nearly sixteen hours from now. Perhaps fate--or my efforts--will favorus before then with some solution of this disheartening problem. Let ushope so."
A quick shudder to hide which she was reaching out her hand, when thedoor behind us opened and a colored girl looked out. Instantly and withthe slightest possible loss of self-possession Mrs. Carew turned tomotion the intruder back, when the girl suddenly blurted out:
"Oh, Mrs. Carew, Harry is so restless. He is sleepy, he says."
"I will be up instantly. Tell him that I will be up instantly." Then asthe girl disappeared, she added, with a quick smile: "You see I haven'tany toys for him. Not being a mother I forgot to put them in histrunk."
As though in response to these words the maid again showed herself inthe doorway. "Oh, Mrs. Carew," she eagerly exclaimed, "there's a littletoy in the hall here, brought over by one of Mrs. Ocumpaugh's maids. Thegirl said that hearing that the little boy fretted, Mrs. Ocumpaugh hadpicked out one of her little girl's playthings and sent it over with herlove. It's a little horse, ma'am, with curly mane and a long tail. I amsure 'twill just please Master Harry."
Mrs. Carew turned upon me a look brimming with feeling.
"What thoughtfulness! What self-control!" she cried. "Take up the horse,Dinah. It was one of Gwendolen's favorite playthings," she explained tome as the girl vanished.
I did not answer. I was hearing again in my mind that desolate cry of"Philo! Philo! Philo!" which an hour or so before had rung down to mefrom Mrs. Ocumpaugh's open window. There had been a wildness in thetone, which spoke of a tossing head on a feverish pillow. Certainly anirreconcilable picture with the one just suggested by Mrs. Carew of theconsiderate friend sending out the toys of her lost one to a neighbor'speevish child.
Mrs. Carew appeared to notice the pre-occupation with which I lingeredon the lower step.
"You like children," she hazarded. "Or have you interested yourself inthis matter purely from business reasons?"
"Business reasons were sufficient," was my guarded reply. "But I likechildren very much. I should be most happy if I could see this littleHarry of yours nearer. I have only seen him from a distance, you know."
She drew back a step; then she met my look squarely in the moonlight.Her face was flushed, but I attempted no apology for a presumption whichcould have but one excuse. I meant that she should understand me if Idid not her.
"You _must_ love children," she remarked, but not with her usualcorrectness of tone. Then before I could attempt an answer to theimplied sarcasm a proud light came into her eyes, and with a graciousbend of her fine figure she met my look with one equally as frank, andcheerfully declared:
"You shall. Come early in the morning."
In another moment she had vanished inside and closed the door. I wasdefeated for the nonce, or else she was all she appeared to be and I adreaming fool.