"why you thought it worth
while, Miss Santoine, to ask so much about myself when you first met me
and before any of this had happened? You were not so much interested
then in me personally as that; and it was not because you could have
suspected I had been Mr. Warden's friend; for when the conductor
charged that, it was a complete surprise to you."

"No; I did not suspect that."

"Then why were you curious about me?"

Before Avery could speak or even make a gesture, Harriet seemed to come
to a decision. "My Father asked me to," she said.

"Your father? Asked you to do what?"

"To find out about you."

"Why?"

As she hesitated, Avery put his hand upon her shoulder as though
warning her to be still; but she went on, after only an instant.

"I promised Mr. Avery and the conductor," she said, "that if I saw you
I would listen to what you had to say but would not answer questions
without their consent; but I seem already to have broken that promise.
I have been wondering, since we have found out what we have about you,
whether Father could possibly have suspected that you were Mr. Warden's
friend; but I am quite sure that was not the original reason for his
inquiring about you. My Father thought he recognized your voice, Mr.
Eaton, when you were speaking to the conductor about your tickets. He
thought he ought to know who you were. He knew that some time and
somewhere he had been near you before, and had heard you speak; but he
could not tell where or when. And neither Mr. Avery nor I could tell
him who you were; so he asked us to find out. I do not know whether,
after we had described you to Father, he may have connected you with
Mr. Warden or not; but that could not have been in his mind at first."

Eaton had paled; Avery had seemed about to interrupt her, but watching
Eaton, he suddenly had desisted.

"You and Mr. Avery?" Eaton repeated. "He sent you to find out about
me?"

"Sent me--in this case--more than Mr. Avery; because he thought it
would be easier for me to do it." Harriet had reddened under Eaton's
gaze. "You understand, Mr. Eaton, it was--was entirely impersonal with
me. My Father, being blind, is obliged to use the eyes of
others--mine, for one; he has trained me to see for him ever since we
used to take walks together when I was a little girl, and he has made
me learn to tell him what I see in detail, in the way that he would see
it himself; and for helping him to see other things on