Quicksand
ever since she could remember, served her uncle.
The hostile “Well?” of this new servant forcibly recalled the reason for her presence there. She said firmly: “Mr. Nilssen, please.”
“Mr. Nilssen‘s not in,” was the pert retort. “Will you see Mrs. Nilssen?”
Helga was startled. “Mrs. Nilssen! I beg your pardon, did you say Mrs. Nilssen?”
“I did,” answered the maid shortly, beginning to close the door.
“What is it, Ida?” A woman‘s soft voice sounded from within.
“Someone for Mr. Nilssen, m‘am.”
The girl looked embarrassed.
In Helga‘s face the blood rose in a deep-red stain. She explained: “Helga Crane, his niece.”
“She says she‘s his niece, m‘am.”
“Well, have her come in.”
There was no escape. She stood in the
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