"May I come in?" she asked in her even, well-bred voice.
"Why--yes," I faltered.
Closing the door behind her, she walked over to the fireplace.
"Won't you sit down?" I asked. "No, I thank you. This is not an
afternoon call, Miss Middleton, it is--But of course you
understand."
I didn't understand at all, and her manner of saying I did made me
furious.
"Perhaps I am very stupid," I said, "but I cannot imagine why you
are here."
"Do you know where my son is?"
"I do not."
"You have no idea?"
"I have no idea where your son is, nor why you are here."
She eyed me intently. How cold and determined she looked and how
handsome she was.
"If I thought you were telling the truth--"
"Mrs. Porter!"
She handed me a letter. "Please read that," she said.
"I will not read it," I replied. "I must beg that you leave me."
"There, there, child, I did not mean to be rude."
"You are more than rude, you are insolent."
"I am distracted, child. Please read the letter."
"Very well," I said, "I'll read it."
This was the letter:
"MY DEAR MOTHER: This will be handed to you at four o'clock. At
that hour I shall be in Ventura, accompanied by the Grand Duke
Alexander, and, as we are making the trip by automobile, it may be
that we shall neither of us return in time for your dinner this
evening.
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