"Yes," said mamma.
"And is this young lady Miss Ida?"
"Yes."
"You have received, I believe, a few letters from me, Miss Ida: my name is Hudson."
Fortunately our family are not of a fainting disposition, for a tête-à-tête with a lunatic was a situation requiring some nerve and perfect self-control; so, although mamma and Ida were much alarmed upon learning the name of their visitor, they neither screamed nor fainted, and mamma invited him quite courteously to walk up to the house.
Mr. Hudson was a tall, powerful man, with cunning, restless, gray eyes, was well dressed, and wore a linen duster. He had come, he said, seven hundred miles to see Ida. Upon reaching the house, he followed mamma into the dining-room where Marguerite, Gabrielle, and I were sitting at work.
"Ah, Miss Gabrielle!" he said, "I supposed you were at school."
One or two other rational remarks of the sort, and mamma's perfect sang-froid so deceived me that I decided the supposed lunatic must be perfectly sane. In a moment, however, he looked somewhat uneasy, and said:
"I have a long story to tell your niece, ma'am, but I feel a little bashful about speaking before so many young ladies."
"Would you like to see me alone, then?" said mamma promptly; "you would not object to telling your story to a married woman."