“Good-night, good friend. Sincere thanks for all your kindness,” said Roma, holding out her hand. The lawyer pressed it and went his way.
But Mrs. Brown, late as it was, was disinclined to move. She was rather inclined for a gossip. Sinking into the chair that Mr. Merritt had vacated, she said:
“I really thought, when Mr. Merritt engaged these rooms for you, that you were coming here on your bridal tour.”
“Why should you have thought so?” demanded Roma.
“Because that gentleman who came here soon after you left as good as told me that he and you were soon to be married, and as good as promised to bring you here on your bridal tour.”
“What gentleman?”
“Why, Mr. William Hanson.”
“Tell me all about his visit.”
“Why, he came here to inquire after you. Somebody had told him you were staying here. He said he had been on a long voyage, and I think he said he had been shipwrecked; in that way he had lost trace of you. He asked me ever so many questions, and made me tell him all about you—every single thing. About your goodness to Madam Nouvellini and your adoption of her orphan child, and your devotion to the little one, and all; and he just as good as told me how you was engaged to be married to him, and just as good as pledged his word that he would bring you here on your bridal tour.”
“Then he told you absolute falsehoods. I never was engaged to the man, and never could have been so.”