“Mr. Ogden, I’m not Mrs. Reece—that is, you know, not any more.” She gave a nervous little laugh. “I’m—I’m Mrs. Lumbard now.”
Ogden bowed. “I’ll remember. Such matters are very quickly arranged, these days. I’m sorry not to have been up-to-date.”
She forced another little laugh at this.
“You know Aunt Susanna is a lady of the old school and she detests—er—second marriages, and things like that—divorces and everything. You understand.”
“Your aunt!” exclaimed Ogden in amazement. “Well, I am indeed ’way, ’way behind the times. I had no idea Miss Frink had a niece and, and—”
“Least of all, me, I suppose,” put in Adèle, laughing again.
“Your little girl, is she here?”
“Oh, never mind about the baby either, Mr. Ogden, please. You see, Aunt Susanna is so peculiar, and we’ve always been strangers. I haven’t even told her about the baby. I didn’t want to annoy her by bringing a child here. Just don’t know anything, please, except that I’m Mrs. Lumbard now, and you met me in Atlanta, and never say a word about what I was doing, because she would faint away at a mention of the stage, and I don’t want to offend her.”
“I understand perfectly.” Ogden bowed gravely. He thought he did.
At this moment Leonard Grimshaw, always silent-footed as a cat, appeared in the dimness of the hall, coming from his room. Adèle had no means of knowing whether he had heard any of their talk, but was alertly conscious that he must notice the intimacy of their position as they stood conversing in hushed tones like a pair of conspirators.