On the instant he recognised that no common interview lay before
him. She was still the mysterious stranger, and she still wore her
veil--a fact all the more impressive that it was no longer the
accompaniment of a hat, but flung freely over her bare head. He
frowned as he met her eyes through this disguising gauze. This
attempt at an incognito for which there seemed to be no adequate
reason, had a theatrical look wholly out of keeping with the
situation. But he made no allusion to it, nor was the bow with
which he acknowledged her presence and ushered her into the room,
other than courteous. Nevertheless, she was the first to speak.

"This is very good of you, Judge Ostrander," she remarked, in a
voice both cultured and pleasant. "I could hardly have hoped for
this honour. After what happened this morning at your house, I
feared that my wish for an interview would not only be disregarded
by you, but that you would utterly refuse me the privilege of
seeing you. I own to feeling greatly relieved. Such consideration
shown to a stranger, argues a spirit of unusual kindliness."

A tirade. He simply bowed.

"Or perhaps I am mistaken in my supposition," she suggested,
advancing a step, but no more. "Perhaps I am no stranger to you?
Perhaps you know my name?"

"Averill? No."

She paused, showing her disappointment quite openly. Then drawing
up a chair, she leaned heavily on its back, saying in low,
monotonous tones from which the former eager thrill had departed: