“Why, George!” exclaimed Totty Trimm. “How you look! What is the matter with you?”
“How do you do, cousin Totty? I do not understand. Is there anything the matter with my face?”
“I wish you could see yourself in the glass!” cried the little lady evidently more and more surprised at his unusual expression. “I wish you could. You are as white as a sheet, with great rings round your eyes. Where in the world have you been?”
“I? Oh, I have only been making a visit at the Fearings. I suppose I am tired.”
“The Fearings?” repeated Totty, with a sweet smile. “How odd! I was just going there—walking, you see, because it is such a lovely afternoon. You won’t come back with me? They won’t mind seeing you twice in the same day, I daresay.”
“Thanks,” answered George, speaking hurriedly, and growing, if possible, paler than before. “I think it would be rather too much. Besides, I have a lot of work to do.”
“Well—go in and see Mamie on your way up. She is alone—got a horrid cold, poor child! She will be so glad and she will give you a cup of tea. You might put a little of that old whiskey of Sherry’s into it. I am sure you are not well, George. You are looking wretchedly. Good-bye, dear boy.”
Totty squeezed his hand warmly, gave him an earnest and affectionate look, and tripped away down the Avenue. George wondered whether she had guessed that there was anything wrong.
“I suppose I ought to have lied,” he said to himself, as he crossed the thoroughfare. “They will—but I cannot do it so well. I ought to have told her that I had been to the club.”
Totty Trimm had not only guessed that something was very wrong indeed. She had instinctively hit upon the truth. She, like many other people, had seen long ago that George was in love with Constance Fearing, and she had for a long time been glad of it. During the last three or four days, however, she had changed her mind in a way very unusual with her, and she had been hoping with all her heart that something would happen to break off a match that seemed to be very imminent. The matter had been so constantly in her thoughts that she referred to it everything she heard about the Fearings and about George. She had not really had the slightest intention of going to the house in Washington Square when she had met her cousin, but the determination had formed itself so quickly that she had spoken the truth in declaring it. She made up her mind to see Constance the moment she had seen George’s face and had learned that he had been with her. She pursued her way with a light heart, and her nimble little feet carried her more lightly and smoothly than ever. She rang the bell and asked if the young ladies were at home.