Quicksand
large reception hall, and was annoyed to find herself actually trembling. A woman, tall, exquisitely gowned, with shining gray hair piled high, came forward murmuring in a puzzled voice: “His niece, did you say?”
“Yes, Helga Crane. My mother was his sister, Karen Nilssen. I‘ve been away. I didn‘t know Uncle Peter had married.” Sensitive to atmosphere, Helga had felt at once the latent antagonism in the woman‘s manner.
“Oh, yes! I remember about you now. I‘d forgotten for a moment. Well, he isn‘t exactly your uncle, is he? Your mother wasn‘t married, was she? I mean, to your father?”
“I—I don‘t know,” stammered the girl, feeling pushed down to the uttermost depths of ignominy.
“Of course she wasn‘t.” The clear, low voice held a positive note. “Mr. Nilssen has been very kind to you, supported you, sent you to school. But you mustn‘t expect anything else. And you mustn‘t come here any more. It—-
61
