Killigrew was a sensible man; his
business hours began when he left home and ended when he entered it.
"Do you know any earls or dukes?" asked Killigrew, folding his napkin.
"Really, no. I have moved in a very different orbit. I know many of
them by sight, however." He did not think it vital to add that he had
often sold them collars and suspenders.
The butler and the second man pulled back the ladies' chairs.
Killigrew hurried away to his offices; Kitty and her mother went
up-stairs; and Thomas returned to his desk in the library. He was
being watched by Kitty; nothing overt, nothing tangible, yet he sensed
it: from the first day he had entered this house. It oppressed him,
like a presage of disaster. Back of his chair was a fireplace, above
this, a mirror. Once--it was but yesterday--while with his back to his
desk, day-dreaming, he had seen her in the mirror. She stood in the
doorway, a hand resting lightly against the portiere. There was no
smile on her face. The moment he stirred, she vanished.
Watched. Why?
CHAPTER XI
The home-bureau of charities was a success from the start; but beyond
the fact that it served to establish Thomas Webb as private secretary
in the Killigrew family, I was not deeply interested.
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