"You request me to tell her this," said I. "Would n’t it be better for you to speak to her yourself?"
"Eleanore and I hold little or no confidential communication," she replied.
I could easily believe this, and yet I was puzzled. Indeed, there was something incomprehensible in her whole manner. Not knowing what else to say, I remarked, "That is unfortunate. She ought to be told that the straightforward course is the best by all means."
Mary Leavenworth only wept. "Oh, why has this awful trouble come to me, who have always been so happy before!"
"Perhaps for the very reason that you have always been so happy."
"It was not enough for dear uncle to die in this horrible manner; but she, my own cousin, had to"
I touched her arm, and the action seemed to recall her to herself. Stopping short, she bit her lip.
"Miss Leavenworth," I whispered, "you should hope for the best. Besides, I honestly believe you to be disturbing yourself unnecessarily. If nothing fresh transpires, a mere prevarication or so of your cousin’s will not suffice to injure her."
I said this to see if she had any reason to doubt the future. I was amply rewarded.
"Anything fresh? How could there be anything fresh, when she is perfectly innocent?"
Suddenly, a thought seemed to strike her. Wheeling round in her seat till her lovely, perfumed wrapper brushed my knee, she asked: "Why did n’t they ask me more questions? I could have told them Eleanore never left her room last night."
"You could?" What was I to think of this woman?
