“It was a relief to find Carey alone”
“David, the first day I met you, when I was six years old, Mrs. Randall told us of your father. I didn’t know just what a prison was, but I supposed it something very grand, and it widened the halo of romance that my childish eyes had cast about you. The morning after you had nominated Mr. Hume I saw your aunt at the hotel, and she told me, for she said some day I might hear it from strangers and not understand. When I saw those banners it was not so much sympathy for you that distressed me; I was thinking of your mother, and regretting that she could not be alive to hear you speak, and see what her bravery had done for you.”
David had to summon all his control and his recollection of her Virginia ancestors to refrain from telling her what was in his heart. Mrs. Winthrop helped him by her entrance at this crucial point.
“Good morning, David,” she said suavely. “Carey, Fletcher is waiting for you at the elevator. Your father stopped him. I told him you would be out directly.”
“I had an engagement to drive with him,” explained Carey. “I thought you would come earlier.”
“I am due at a committee meeting,” he said, in a courteous but aloof manner. 226
“We start in the morning, you know,” she reminded him. “Won’t you dine here with us to-night?”
“I am sorry,” he refused. “It will be impossible.”
“Arthur is going to a club for luncheon,” said Mrs. Winthrop, when Carey had gone into the adjoining room, “and I shall be alone unless you will take pity on my loneliness. I won’t detain you a moment after luncheon.”