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Read Ebook: The Man Inside by Lincoln Natalie Sumner
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Ebook has 1065 lines and 60758 words, and 22 pages
Mrs. Mortimer laughed again and began taking the layers of crumpled wax-paper out of the box. "Oh, that was the trouble with you, was it? That's nothing. He had to be away to see about a new electrical plant in Dayton. Did you ever know Paul Hollister to let anything interfere with business?" This characterization was delivered with an intonation that made it the most manifest praise.
Her mother seconded it with unquestioning acquiescence. "No, that's a fact; I never did."
Mrs. Mortimer in her turn had an accent of dramatic intensity as she cried out, "Oh! they are American Beauties! The biggest I ever saw!"
The two women looked at the flowers, almost awestruck at their size.
"Have you a vase?" Mrs. Mortimer asked dubiously.
Mrs. Emery rose to the occasion. "The Japanese umbrella stand."
There was a pause as they reverently arranged the great sheaf of enormous flowers. Then Mrs. Emery began, "Marietta--" She hesitated.
"Well," Mrs. Mortimer prompted her, a little impatiently.
"Do you really think that he--that Lydia--?"
Marietta accepted with a somewhat pinched smile her mother's boundary lines of reticence. "Of course. Did you ever know Paul Hollister to give up anything he wanted?"
Her mother shook her head.
Mrs. Mortimer rose with a "Well, then!" and the air of one who has said all there is to be said on a subject, and again crossed the room toward the door. Her mother drifted aimlessly in that direction also, as though swept along by the other's energy.
"Well, it's a pity he is not here now, anyhow," she said, adding in a spirited answer to her daughter's expression, "Now, you needn't look that way, Marietta. You know yourself that Lydia is very romantic and fanciful.d on his death had inherited a comfortable fortune.
In many ways the winter had brought numerous triumphs in its train, enough to spoil most natures. But Eleanor was too well poised to lose her head over adulation. She had sounded the depths of social pleasantries, and found them shallow. In every country she had visited all men had been only too ready to be at her beck and call--except one. The dreamy eyes hardened at the thought, and the soft lips closed firmly. She had made the advances, and he had not responded. A situation so unique in her experience had made an indelible impression. Angry with herself for even recalling so unpleasant an episode, she touched the bell beside the bed; then, placing her pillow in a more comfortable position, she leaned back and contemplated her surroundings with speculative eyes.
Her individuality had stamped itself upon the whole room. A picture or two, far above the average, a few choice books, whose dainty binding indicated a taste and refinement quite unusual; one or two Chinese vases, old when the Revolutionary War began; an ivory carving of the Renaissance; a mirror in whose lustrous depths Venetian beauties had seen their own reflections hundreds of years ago. All these things gave sure indication of study and travel, and a maturity of thought and taste which, oddly enough, seemed rather to enhance Eleanor's natural charm.
"But yes, Mademoiselle." The Frenchwoman stepped to the window and raised the shade. "Madame Truxton gave orders to Fugi to tell the cook that he must send you a more substantial breakfast. She does not approve of rolls and coffee. I think she wishes you to eat as she does."
Eleanor shuddered slightly. "Did--did she have beefsteak and fried onions this morning?" she inquired.
"But yes, Mademoiselle," Annette's pretty features dimpled into a smile, "and she ate most heartily."
"Not another word, Annette, you take away my appetite. Is Mrs. Truxton waiting to see me?"
"You cannot complain of my early rising," laughed Eleanor, glancing at the clock, whose hands pointed to a quarter to twelve.
"Ah, Mademoiselle, you have lived so long away from America that you have acquired our habits."
"You may take the tray, Annette; I have even less appetite than usual to-day." Eleanor waited until it had been removed, then sprang out of bed. "Come back in fifteen minutes," she called.
"What news to-day, Annette?" she asked, as the Frenchwoman, with skilful fingers, arranged her wavy hair, which fell far below her waist.
"I don't want household details," broke in Eleanor impatiently. "Tell me of some outside news, if there is any."
"Well, what about him?" inquired Eleanor listlessly.
"He is dead."
"Dead!" The handglass slipped from Eleanor's grasp and fell crashing to the hearth. Annette pounced upon it.
"Bother the glass." Eleanor's foot came down with an unmistakable stamp. "Tell me at once of Senator Carew's death. I cannot believe it!"
"It is only too true," Annette was a privileged character and deeply resented being hurried, also her volatile French nature enjoyed creating a sensation. She had eagerly read the morning paper, and had refrained from telling Eleanor the news until she could get her undivided attention. "Senator Carew was found dead in his carriage early this morning on his return from the dance at Mrs. Owen's"--Annette had no reason to complain, Eleanor was giving her full attention to the story--"he had been stabbed."
The maid's hand accidentally touched Eleanor's bare neck, and she felt the taut muscles quiver. Covertly she glanced into the mirror and studied the lovely face. But Eleanor's expression told her nothing. Her cheeks were colorless and her eyes downcast.
"Fugi says the messenger boy is waiting for an answer, Mademoiselle."
Eleanor tore it open and read the hastily scrawled lines.
DEAR ELEANOR:
I suppose you have been told of last night's terrible tragedy. Cynthia is prostrated. She begs pitifully to see you. Can you come to us for a few days? Your presence will help us both. Affectionately, CHARLOTTE WINTHROP.
Eleanor read the note several times, then walked thoughtfully over to her desk.
DEAREST MRS. WINTHROP: It is awful. I will come as soon as possible. Devotedly, ELEANOR.
"Well, my dear, may I come in?" asked a pleasant voice from the doorway.
"Indeed you may, Cousin Kate," Eleanor stepped across the room and kissed the older woman affectionately. Mrs. Truxton's ruddy face lighted with an affectionate smile as she returned her greeting. She did not altogether approve of her young cousin, many of her "foreign ways" as she termed it, offended her, but Eleanor's lovable disposition had won a warm place in her regard.
Mrs. Truxton seated herself in one of the comfortable lounging chairs and contemplated the disheveled room and Eleanor's oriental silk dressing gown with disapproval.
"Do you know the time?" she inquired pointedly.
"Nearly one," answered Eleanor, as she discarded her dressing gown for a silk waist. "Lunch will soon be ready. I hope you have a good appetite."
"Do so by all means," exclaimed Eleanor heartily. "I hope she won't talk you deaf, dumb, and blind."
"I beg your pardon," Eleanor was some seconds picking it up, for her fingers fumbled clumsily. "What were you saying, Cousin Kate?" replacing the silver on the dressing table.
"Mercy, child, how inattentive you are! I was only remarking that Douglas Hunter is no stranger to Washington. He was raised here, as he belongs to one of the first families of Georgetown."
"I never heard of a 'second' family in Georgetown," smiled Eleanor; then, seeing her cousin's offended expression, she hastily changed the subject. "Have you heard the shocking news of Senator Carew's--" she hesitated for a moment--"tragic death?"
"Indeed I have. Washington is talking of nothing else. Why are you packing, Annette?" as the servant entered.
"Mrs. Winthrop has just written and asked me to spend a few days with them," explained Eleanor hurriedly, "so suppose you invite Miss Crane to stay with you in my absence."
"Of course you cannot very well decline to go," said Mrs. Truxton thoughtfully. "Still, I hate to have you mixed up in such an affair, Eleanor."
"Nonsense, Cousin Kate, you must not look at it in that light," Eleanor patted the fat shoulder nearest her affectionately. "Cynthia told me yesterday that Senator Carew had said he was going to discharge the coachman, Hamilton , for drunkenness. I have no doubt he committed the murder from revenge, and while under the influence of liquor."
"I sincerely trust that is the correct solution of the mystery," Mrs. Truxton looked dubious, "but there has been one fearful scandal in that family already, Eleanor, and I very much doubt if Senator Carew was killed by a servant."
"Why, what do you mean?" Eleanor wheeled around in her chair and faced her abruptly.
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