“He seems a very nice lad, and very much interested in—somebody?” suggested Mrs. Dale archly.
Mabin laughed.
“Yes, so he is. But it is not the ‘somebody’ you mean,” answered she. “Mrs. Bonnington, that’s his mother, says he can think about nothing but—Mrs. Dale!”
Again the sweet face changed; and it was in a low voice full of sadness that the lady in black said, slowly and deliberately:
“I hope with all my heart that she has made a mistake.” Then, with a rapid gesture, as if brushing away some thought which was full of untold terror, she added with a shudder: “Don’t let us talk about it. It is too horrible!”
CHAPTER III.
AN INVITATION AND A WARNING.
Mabin’s sprained ankle was a more serious affair than she had supposed. For a month she never left the house, and for another she went out in a wheel-chair, or hopped about on a pair of crutches.
And during all that time she caught no glimpse of the pretty neighbor who had done her such eminent service at the time of the accident. In vain she had hung about the road outside “The Towers” looking up at the west side of the house, which was built into the wall alongside the road, trying to distinguish the fair, blue-eyed face at one of the windows which peeped sombrely out of the ivy.
Dreary the place looked, Mabin thought, as she pondered over the mystery surrounding the lady in black. The lowest window visible from the road was about three feet above the girl’s head; and all she could see was a pair of crimson moreen curtains, which, she thought, harmonized ill with what she had seen of the tenant of the gloomy house. The house had long been “To let, Furnished.” But why had not dainty Mrs. Dale improved away those curtains?
Mabin did not usually trouble her head about such trifles as furniture; but she had enshrouded the figure of the pretty widow in romance; and she felt that her fairy queen was not living up to her proper standard in contenting herself with crimson moreen.