"No, I don't suppose he knew it when we were here," answered the squire, evidently ignorant of the captain's second visit alone. "He had a telegram from his mother this evening, begging him to return home at once."
I said no more, and Squire Broderick turned to father. "Can you give me a few minutes?" asked he.
Father rose. It vexed me to see that he rose with some difficulty. He was evidently sadly stiff again, and it vexed me that the squire should see it. Without uttering a word, he led the way to his business-room.
I remained where I was, with the jam-pot in my hand, looking at mother, who sat by the fire knitting. There was a little smile upon her lips that annoyed me immensely.
"I think I ought to tell you, mother, that I was behind the jam-cupboard door while you and father were talking, and that I heard what you said," said I, suddenly.
"Well, of course I did not expect you to come intruding where you were not wanted, Margaret," said mother; "but I don't know that it matters. I'm not ashamed of what I said."
"Of course not," answered I; "and I've guessed you had that notion in your head these months past."
"I don't know, I'm sure, what business you had to guess," said mother. "It wasn't your place, that I can see."
"And I may as well tell you that I'm quite sure Joyce would never think of the squire if he did want to marry her," continued I, without paying any attention to this remark. I paused a moment before I added, "She couldn't, anyhow, because she's in love with another man."
Mother looked at me over her spectacles. She looked at me as though she did not see me, and yet she looked me through and through.