Read Online Another Woman's House by Mignon G. Eberhart - Free Book Online

more than I could bear.”
    â€œNow, now,” said the Governor warningly, smiling. “You’ve been very brave. No tears.”
    â€œI won’t cry,” said Alice. “I’m too happy.” Her soft brown eyes went slowly all around the room, touching every object caressingly. Her gaze reached Myra and fixed itself with a kind of start for an instant and then she said with an apologetic gasp, “Oh, Myra! I didn’t realize you were there—I only saw Richard.”
    The Governor said kindly, “You’d better not talk now; get her to rest, Thorne …”
    Alice said, “Oh, yes. Yes, I’ll rest. My own room again, no bars, no keys …” her voice choked. She turned toward the door leaning heavily upon Richard. There was another moment of silence in the room—it was so still that Myra could hear the light swish of Alice’s somber yet modish black gown as they walked together to the doorway. Richard did not look back. It was as if Richard were not there at all but a perfectly strange person who moved in Richard’s body. They disappeared and Myra’s hand was stiff and cramped from holding so tightly to the curtains beside her and the room seemed, in spite of the lights and the fire, extraordinarily chill and empty. Then the Governor cleared his throat again, got out his handkerchief, blew his nose loudly and looked at Myra.
    â€œThat woman’s an angel. Very near collapse, I’m afraid, but too much courage to admit it. However, she’ll be all right now.” His eyes sharpened. “See here. Don’t you collapse! You’d better sit down.” He came quickly to Myra and led her to Richard’s arm chair and put her down in it, talking rapidly. “Good news can be almost as much of a shock as bad news. Lean back, Miss—er—lean back. Maybe you’d better have a drink. I could use one myself. Where’s the bell? I’m sorry it had to come as such a shock to everybody, but the way things were it seemed impossible to do otherwise if I was to spare you all further notoriety. Now then, Miss—er—” He was looking around vaguely for the bell.
    Myra said, “Lane. It’s there beside the door.”
    â€œOh, yes. Yes, I see.” He started toward it, stopped suddenly midway, shot her a sharp look and said, “Lane? Is your name Lane?”
    Myra’s voice seemed dragged up from some deep distance, flat and still, without tone or resonance. “Myra Lane.”
    â€œLane,” said the Governor. “Well!” He turned, went quickly to the bell and pushed it and came back to stand before her, his back to the fire. “Are you,” he said, “any relation to Timothy Lane?”
    A faraway wonder touched her. What did he know of Tim?
    â€œHe is my brother.”
    â€œYour brother!” began the Governor on a note of astonishment and stopped and stared. “Do you live here?”
    Again a voice not her own seemed to reply for Myra. “No—that is, yes, I do just now.” His shrewd sharp eyes questioned. She said, “I live with Aunt Cornelia, Lady Carmichael.”
    His face cleared. “Oh, yes, she was Cornelia Thorne. I do recall now that someone said she had come back from England to keep house for Dick Thorne.”
    His eyes were again bright and sharp with question. “I didn’t realize that your brother and you are related to the Thornes.”
    She had to speak; she had to reply; she had to explain.
    â€œOh, we are not. We only call her Aunt. My mother was a friend of Lady Carmichael’s. She died when I was sixteen. I have lived with Lady Carmichael since then.”
    â€œI see. In England?”
    â€œYes, until last fall when we came here.”
    â€œI see.” He paused thoughtfully and then said: “What ,about your brother? He went to school here, didn’t he?”
    â€œYes. That is, until he was eighteen. He