Expect a visitor.  The man we know has left the St. Denis.

CHAPTER XIX

IN MRS. DEO’S ROOM

A prey to fresh agitation, he stepped back to Anitra’s side.  Surely she must understand that it was Georgian and not herself about whom he was most anxious to hear.  But she did not seem to.  The smile with which she greeted him suggested nothing of the past.  It spoke only of the future.

“I will learn to be like sister,” she impulsively cried out, rising and beaming brightly upon him.  “I will forget the old gipsy ways and Mother Duda’s ways, and try to be nice and pretty like my sister.  And you shall learn me to read and write.  I’ve known deaf people who learned.  Then I shall know what you think; now I only know how you feel.”

He shook his head, a little sadly, perhaps.  There were people who could teach her these arts, but not he.  He had neither the ability, the courage, nor the patience.

“Then some one shall learn me,” she loudly insisted, her cheek flushing and her eye showing an angry spark.  “I will not be ignorant always; I will not, I will not.”  And turning, she fled from his side, and he was left to think over her story and ask himself for the hundredth time what it all meant, what his own sensations meant, and what would be the outcome of conditions so complicated.

The possibly speedy appearance on the scene of Georgian’s so-called brother did not detract from his difficulty.  He felt helpless without the support of Mr. Harper’s presence, and spent a very troubled forenoon listening to the mingled condolences and advice of people who had no interest in his concerns save such as sprang from curiosity and a morbid craving for excitement.

At two o’clock occurred the event of which he had been forewarned.  A carriage drove up to the hotel and from it stepped two travelers; one of them a stranger, the other the man with the twisted jaw.  Mr. Ransom advanced to meet the latter.  He was anxious to listen to his first inquiries and, if possible, be the person to answer them.

He was successful in this.  Mr. Hazen no sooner saw him than he accosted him without ceremony.

“What is this I hear and read about Georgian and her so-called twin?” he cried.  “Nothing that I can believe, I want you to know.  Georgian may have drowned herself.  That is credible enough.  But that the girl we read about in the papers and whom she evidently induced to come to this place with her should be the dead girl we called Anitra—­why, that is all bosh—­a tale to deceive the public, and possibly you, but not one to deceive me.  The coincidence is much too improbable.”

“‘There are stranger things in heaven and earth’”—­quoted Ransom; but Hazen was already in conversation with the group of hotel idlers who had crowded up at sound of his loud voice.

After a careful look which had taken in all of their faces, he had approached one young fellow, covering the lower part of his face as he did so.