I've come to ask you a plain
question, ma'am, plain and direct. It's about the young man Mr. Noel.
Have he, ma'am, or have he not, a mole on his left arm? I'd like yes
or no, ma'am."
"A mole on his left arm!" echoed Mrs. Ellsworthy. "My good woman, what
a very extraordinary question; you really quite startle me. Has Arthur
Noel a mole on his left arm? Yes, of course he has; I used to notice
it when he was a child. I suppose people don't outgrow moles, so he
probably has it still. Why, Mrs. Martin--I am told your name is
Martin--how very white you are. Would you--would you like a glass of
wine?"
"Thank you, ma'am--no wine, thank you, ma'am. I'm a bit upset. Yes,
I'm a bit upset, for I believe Mr. Arthur Noel is my long-lost baby."
The footman downstairs had given Mrs. Martin careful directions not to
occupy more than a moment or two of his mistress's valuable time; but
though he waited on the stairs and lingered about in the
entrance-hall, no bell summoned him to show out this remarkable
visitor. An hour passed away, an hour and a half, and still Mrs.
Martin remained in close conversation with Mrs. Ellsworthy. At the end
of the hour and a half Henry looked earnestly at the clock, sighed,
and felt that it was his duty to go into the room to let Mrs.
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