“I was presented to her the day he brought her over,” replied he; “we all lunched with him at the hotel, but I never saw her after. The fact was, Watty made a foolish match, and never was the same man to his old friends after. Perhaps we were as much in fault as he was; at all events, except MacNaghten and a few who were very intimate with him, all fell off, and Carew, who was a haughty fellow, drew back from us, and left the breach still wider.”
“And what's your opinion of this claim?” asked another, who had not spoken before.
“That I 'd not give sixpence for the chance of its success,” said he, laughingly. “Why, everybody knows that no trace of any document establishing Carew's marriage could be found after his death. Some went so far as to say that there never had been a marriage at all; and as to the child, Dan MacNaghten told me years ago that the boy was killed in some street skirmish in Paris,—so that, taking all the doubts and difficulties together, and bearing in mind that old Joe Curtis has a strong purse and is in possession, is there any man with common sense to guide him would think the contest worth a trial?”
“Have you seen this young fellow yet?”
“No; and I am rather curious to have a look at him, for there were strong family traits about the Carews.”
As I heard these last words, I walked boldly out upon the balcony as if to examine the state of the weather. There was a slight murmur of voices heard beneath as I came forward, and one speaker exclaimed, “Indeed!” to which Parsons quickly replied,—
“Positively astounding! It is not only that he has Carew's features, but the carriage of the head and a certain half supercilious look are exactly his!”
The words sent a thrill of hope through me, more than enough to recompense me for the pain his former speech had inflicted; and as I left the window, I felt a degree of confidence in the future that never entirely deserted me after.