"Oh, they are easy enough to understand in her case. She was an actress once. I myself have seen her on the stage—in London. I used to admire her there."
"An actress!" I repeated, somewhat taken aback.
"Yes, I forget what name she played under. But she's a very great lady now; in with all the swells and rich enough to own a yacht if she wanted to."
"But a widow."
"Oh, yes, a widow."
I let a moment of silence pass, then nonchalantly remarked:
"Why is she going to Europe?"
But this was too much for my simple-hearted friend. He neither knew nor had any conjecture ready. But I saw that he did not deplore her resolve. His reason for this presently appeared.
"If the little one is found, the mother will want all her caresses. Let Mrs. Carew hug the boy that God in his mercy has thrown into her arms and leave other children to their mothers."
I rose to leave, when I bethought me and stopped to ask another question.