“No. They were all in the housekeeper’s room, looking at the Indian curiosities which her son in Canada had sent to her. I had left my bird on the dresser--and I ran into the kitchen to put the cage in a safe place, being afraid of the cat. One of the swinging windows in the skylight was open; and I heard voices in the back room above, which is Mrs. Farnaby’s room.” “Whose voices did you hear?” “Mrs. Farnaby’s voice, and Mr. Goldenheart’s.” “Mrs. Farnaby?” Jervy repeated, in surprise. “Are you sure it was _Mrs.?”_ “Of course I am! Do you think I don’t know that horrid woman’s voice? She was saying a most extraordinary thing when I first heard her--she was asking if there was anything wrong in showing her naked foot. And a man answered, and the voice was Mr. Goldenheart’s. You would have felt curious to hear more, if you had been in my place, wouldn’t you? I opened the second window in the kitchen, so as to make sure of not missing anything. And what do you think I heard her say?” “You mean Mrs. Farnaby?” “Yes. I heard her say, ‘Look at my right foot--you see there’s nothing the matter with it.’ And then, after a while, she said, ‘Look at my left foot--look between the third toe and the fourth.’ Did you ever hear of such a audacious thing for a married woman to say to a young man?” “Go on! go on! What did _he_ say?” “Nothing; I suppose he was looking at her foot.” “Her left foot?” “Yes. Her left foot was nothing to be proud of, I can tell you! By her own account, she has some horrid deformity in it, between the third toe and the fourth. No; I didn’t hear her say what the deformity was. I only heard her call it so--and she said her ‘poor darling’ was born with the same fault, and that was her defence against being imposed upon by rogues--I remember the very words--‘in the past days when I employed people to find her.’ Yes! she said _‘her.’_ I heard it plainly. And she talked afterwards of her ‘poor lost daughter’, who might be still living somewhere, and wondering who her mother was. Naturally enough, when I heard that hateful old drunkard talking about a child given to her by Mr. Farnaby, I put two and two together. Dear me, how strangely you look! What’s wrong with you?” “I’m only very much interested--that’s all. But there’s one thing I don’t understand. What had Mr. Goldenheart to do with all this?” “Didn’t I tell you?” “No.” “Well, then, I tell you now. Mrs. Farnaby is not only a heartless wretch, who turns a poor girl out of her situation, and refuses to give her a character--she’s a fool besides. That precious exhibition of her nasty foot was to inform Mr. Goldenheart of something she wanted him to know. If he happened to meet with a girl, in his walks or his travels, and if he found that she had the same deformity in the same foot, then he might know for certain--” “All right! I understand. But why Mr. Goldenheart?”