"No; and I trust I never may! I am astonished that Mr. Hammond can endure the sight of her. You say he has told you nothing about her?"
"Nothing which explains the chagrin her presence seems to cause."
"He is very wise. But, Edna, avoid her society as much as possible. She is doubtless very fascinating; but I do not like what I have heard of her, and prefer that you should have little conversation or intercourse with her. On the whole, you might as well stay at home now; it is very warm, and you can study without Mr. Hammond's assistance."
"You do not mean that my visits must cease altogether?"
"Oh! no; go occasionally—once or twice a week—but certainly not every day, as formerly. And, Edna, be careful not to mention that woman's name again; I dislike her exceedingly."
The orphan longed to ask for an explanation, but was too proud to solicit confidence so studiously withheld.
Mrs. Murray leaned back in her large rocking-chair and fell into a reverie. Edna waited patiently for some time, and finally rose.
"Mrs. Murray, have you anything more to say to me tonight? You look very much fatigued!"
"Nothing, I believe. Good-night, child. Send Hagar to me."
Edna went back to her desk and resolutely turned to her work; for it was one of the peculiar traits of her character that she could at will fasten her thoughts upon whatever subject she desired to master. All irrelevant ideas were sternly banished until such season as she chose to give them audience; and to-night she tore her mind from the events of the day, and diligently toiled among the fragments of Scandinavian lore for the missing links in her mythologic chain.