Now with Clare Crosby swagging against the double door of Tottie's back-parlor, watching Farvel through despairing eyes, and admitting with trembling lips her own defeat; with Farvel seemingly overcome by being brought thus suddenly face to face with the soloist, Mrs. Milo experienced such complete satisfaction that she seized upon this opportunity as one well calculated to exhibit strikingly her judgment, balance, and sagacity; her good taste and pious gentleness.
"Ah, Mr. Farvel!" she cried, in that playfully teasing tone she was often pleased to affect. "Aren't you glad you came?—Oh, I guessed your little secret! I guessed you were interested in Miss Crosby!"
At the sound of her own name, Clare took her eyes from Farvel and turned them upon Mrs. Milo—turned them slowly, as a sick person might—with effort, and an almost feeble lifting of the head. Her look once focused, she began, little by little, to straighten, to stand more firmly on her feet; she even reached to flatten the starched collar, which had upreared behind her slender throat.
Mrs. Milo went twittering on: "Where you're concerned, trust us to be anxious, dear Mr. Farvel. That's how we came to guess. Isn't it, my daughter?"
Sue did not move. "Yes, mother," she answered obediently; "yes."
Farvel got up. "Mrs. Milo," he began, "I intend to be quite frank with you all. And I feel I ought to tell you that this young woman——"
"Alan!"
It was Clare who protested, almost in a scream, and with a forward start which Wallace also made—involuntarily.
Farvel shook his head and threw out both hands in a helpless gesture.
"They'd better hear all about it," he said.
"You listen to me!" she returned. "This is nobody's business but ours.
Do you understand? Just ours."