Lecount took the measure of her victim. Nothing of the least importance
escaped her. She noticed the Oriental Cashmere Robe lying half made, and
half unpicked again, on the table; she noticed the imbecile foot of Mrs.
Wragge searching blindly in the neighborhood of her chair for a lost
shoe; she noticed that there was a second door in the room besides the
door by which she had entered, and a second chair within easy reach, on
which she might do well to seat herself in a friendly and confidential
way. "Pray don't resent my intrusion," pleaded Mrs. Lecount, taking the
chair. "Pray allow me to explain myself!"
Speaking in her softest voice, surveying Mrs. Wragge with a sweet smile
on her insinuating lips, and a melting interest in her handsome black
eyes, the housekeeper told her little introductory series of falsehoods
with an artless truthfulness of manner which the Father of Lies himself
might have envied. She had heard from Mr. Bygrave that Mrs. Bygrave
was a great invalid; she had constantly reproached herself, in her
idle half-hours at Sea View (where she filled the situation of Mr. Noel
Vanstone's housekeeper), for not having offered her friendly services to
Mrs.
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