Mrs. Jenkins received her sister with unbounded delight, but had hardly greeted her and recounted with what eloquent praises Mrs. Griswold had spoken of the performance, and especially of Clara's part in it, that morning, when she was helping to dress her, when she broke off to ask about the very subject which was occupying Miss Montressor's thoughts.
'My dear,' she said, 'of course you have heard of this horrible murder? It gave me a dreadful turn last night, when I heard the boys crying out, about an hour after Mrs. Griswold went to the play, and Jim went out to find out all about it. Mrs. Griswold hadn't heard anything of it when she came in, and I was very glad; for really it is enough to make one nervous. You heard all about it, of course?'
'O, yes,' said Miss Montressor; 'we have heard all about it. It happened the very day after we sailed. Does every one know about it in the house now?'
'Of course,' said Mrs. Jenkins.
'I didn't mean to ask that,' said Miss Montressor; 'my mind is wandering. I meant to say, was Mrs. Griswold acquainted with Mr. Foster?'
'Lor' bless you! no, Clara,' said her sister, laughing. 'I think you Londoners imagine London is the only big place in the world, and think people who live anywhere else must know everybody who ever came from the place where they live. There are lots of Fosters in New York, I hould think, and there is not anything known about this poor gentleman except that his name is Foster. Mrs. Griswold saw it this morning, and she said she did not think Mr. Griswold knew any one of the name; but it made her quite downhearted--set her off thinking of Mr. Griswold, I suppose.'
'Well, I am glad she hadn't heard it before she left the theatre,' said Miss Montressor; 'it isn't pleasant news to wind up the evening with, even when one knows nothing at all of the parties concerned, a dreary epilogue to the play. I saw Mrs. Griswold last night, Bess.'
'I am glad you did. What do you think of her--though I suppose you couldn't judge very well at that distance?'
'Well, in the first place, I should like to be sure that it was Mrs. Griswold. People change places occasionally, you know, at the theatre, and I didn't catch sight of her until the third act, nor see her very distinctly then; but I could make out the gown, and that she wore gold ornaments of the new fashion--warming-pan style, all clink and clatter when you are near them, and very like harness when you are not. I saw the blue-and-gold fan, too; so I suppose there is no doubt that was the lady?'
'No doubt at all,' said Mrs. Jenkins. 'She was in the seat I told you to look at, and said how comfortable it was, and what a capital view of the stage she had from it. She was highly delighted, I can tell you, Clara, and said she liked your acting better than any she had ever seen. I told her it was not your best part, that it was nothing to your Juliet; but she said she was afraid she was too stupid to care about Shakespeare--not that she is stupid. I am sure I don't set myself up for a judge, but I think she is as bright as she is pretty.'