“An heiress, too, I believe.”
“Yes, she has all the desirable traits a woman can possess.”
“All?” Fessenden’s tone was quizzical.
“What do you mean?” asked Tom sharply.
“Nothing; only, if I were to marry, I should prefer a little more softness of nature.”
“Oh, that’s only her manner. My cousin is most sweet and womanly, I assure you.”
“I’m sure she is,” returned Fessenden, who was a bit ashamed of his outspokenness; “and she’s getting a sterling good fellow for a husband.”
“She is so,” said Tom, heartily, which was kind of him, considering his own opinion of Carleton.
And then both men strolled over to where Madeleine sat at the tea-table. She was reading a telegram that had just been brought to her, and she laughingly explained to Tom that it meant a bother for him.
“Miss Morton has concluded to come to the wedding, after all,” she said. “She wrote me that she wouldn’t come, but she has changed her mind, it seems. Now, it does sound ridiculous, I know, but in this big house there isn’t a room left for her but the one you have, Tom. You see, one bedroom is used for a ‘present room,’ one is reserved for Schuyler to-morrow, the bridesmaids have another, and except for our own rooms, and those already occupied by guests, there are no more. I hate to ask you, Tom, but could you go to the Inn?”