Mrs. Darrow told her tale, and told it very well, and although neither of her audience was in the least degree convinced by it, undoubtedly many people would have been. Right in the midst of a sentimental outburst, in which she was declaring how now she lived solely for the sake of her darling child, being otherwise quite prepared to join the late Mr. Darrow in Heaven, the two young men entered.
"Already!"—the good lady was in no wise disconcerted at having thus abruptly to strike another note.—"Ah! our company is more attractive then than your wine and cigars?"
"Can you doubt it?" said Gerald, making his way over towards Hilda.
Thus deserted, Mrs. Darrow captured the Major, who, too polite to evade her, forthwith buckled to, and did his best to fall in with her very obvious desire for conversation, if not for controversy. Miriam, without a cavalier was thus left to her own devices. She scanned a photograph album which was at her hand.
"Where is Uncle Barton?" asked Mrs. Darrow. "He should be here, if only to entertain dear Miss Crane."
"I don't wish to be entertained, thank you," said Miriam, noting the petty spite. "I think if you don't mind I'll take a walk in the fresh air, it is so close here," she said, and, without waiting for approval or otherwise from Mrs. Darrow, she stepped through the French window which opened on to the terrace.
"Well, I'm sure!" ejaculated the widow. "What coolness! Don't go, John, I have so much to say to you."
"But doesn't it seem rather unkind to leave Miss Crane alone?" said the Major, who was already somewhat under the spell of Miriam's beauty.
"Oh, she likes being alone," smiled Mrs. Darrow—"she has the most mysterious love for solitude. What she thinks about I don't know!"
"Who is she, Julia?"