In a few minutes the three friends were seated and talking as freely as if they had known each other all their lives.
Evidently the two women were mutually pleased with each other.
While they conversed Cleve Stuart came in from his daily, fruitless quest after employment.
He looked surprised and pleased to see Mrs. Walling with his wife, and warmly shook hands with her, expressing his satisfaction at meeting her again after so long an interval of time.
“It was your own fault, Mr. Stuart. You should have sent an old friend your wedding cards,” said the lady, laughing.
“We had none, madam. My little girl was an invalid, and our wedding was a very quiet one at Lull’s, where I had taken her for a change of air,” replied Stuart.
“I will not excuse you, sir. On your return to the city with your sweet, young wife, you should have sent me your address, that I might have called sooner. I hold that you have deprived me of some weeks’ enjoyment I should otherwise have had in the acquaintance of Mrs. Cleve Stuart.”
“Then I have no more to say, dear madam, but to throw myself upon your mercy,” replied Stuart as he seated himself near the group.
“Never mind, my dear,” said Mrs. Walling, turning to Palma, “we must make up for lost time by becoming at once very intimate friends. Now, will you come and take tea with me to-morrow at six o’clock? Not a fashionable tea, dear child, at which hundreds of people sip Oolong or Gunpowder out of dolls’ china cups, but a real unfashionable tea party of ten or a dozen intimate friends, who assemble at ‘early candle-light,’ and sit comfortably down to a long table—a custom of my grandmother’s that I loved in my childhood, and brought with me from old Maryland to this city, and indulge in whenever I can with some of my friends. Will you come, you and Mr. Stuart, dear?”
“With much pleasure, thank you, ma’am,” replied Palma, speaking for both.