The book, however, was but a mark for his thoughts, which continually revolved about the strange surroundings in which he found himself. He was apparently making no progress, was no nearer a solution of the mystery confronting him. Thus far, at least, no direct clue had presented itself. Numerous things had occurred to strengthen suspicion, and to increase interest in the quest. But beyond this--nothing. He liked the girl and was completely enlisted in her service. He disliked Percival, and was convinced the fellow was planning evil. Several incidents had already strengthened this belief; yet there was nothing positive upon which to build; no path of adventure for him to follow. To speculate was easy enough, but real facts eluded him.
Yet, in spite of this feeling of failure, West's reflections centred more upon the young woman than upon the particular problem which he had to solve. The ride back from the city had revealed a phase of her character he had never observed before--she had shown herself vivacious, light of speech, a bit slangy and audacious. He was not altogether sure that this new revealment quite pleased him, and yet it possessed a certain charm. He had before learned to think of her as rather quiet and reserved, and now must change his whole conception. It was difficult to adjust his mind at once to the different standard. He found himself wondering why she had afforded him glimpses of her nature so strangely unlike. What could have occurred within the cottage to thus make so suddenly manifest this new side to her character? The change in her only served to increase the mystery, and, he confessed, his admiration also. Her very freedom evidenced to his mind that he was really accepted, had been taken into a new intimacy; no longer to be held and treated as an interloper, a stranger employed for a purpose. She had deliberately cast aside the conventional, and become natural in his presence--free to speak and act as the spirit moved. This was a victory, and he chose to interpret it as proof that she already really liked and trusted him. Actuated by this feeling, she no longer deemed it necessary to dissemble in his presence. It was a long step in advance.
He had arrived at this very pleasant conclusion, when Sexton appeared in the door, evidently looking for some one. The man espied him there in the shadow of the vines, and came forward.
"Miss Coolidge requests your presence, sir, for a few moments," he said gravely.
"Why, certainly; did she say where, Sexton?"
"In the library, sir; she is waiting there now."