"Mrs. Easterfield, are you laughing at me?" asked Olive.
"Far from it, my dear. I am desperately in earnest. You see, recent events—"
"Dick Lancaster and I are engaged to be married," said Olive demurely, not waiting for the end of that sentence. "And," she added, laughing at Mrs. Easterfield's astonished countenance, "I have not yet considered whether or not it is sensible."
After Mrs. Easterfield had given a half dozen kisses to partly express her pleasure, she said: "And where is he now? I must see him!"
"He went back to his college late last night; it was impossible for him to stay here any longer at present."
As Mrs. Easterfield was going away—she had waited and waited for the captain who had not come—Olive detained her.
"You are so dear," she said, "that I must tell you a great thing." And then she told the story of the two men in the barouche.
Mrs. Easterfield turned pale, and sat down again. She had actually lost her self-possession. She made Olive tell her the story over and over again. "It is too much," she said, "for one day. I am glad the captain is not here, I would not know what to say to him. I may tell Tom?" she said. "I must tell him; he will be silent as a rock."
Olive smiled. "Yes, you may tell Tom," she said.
"I have told Dick, but on no account must Harry ever know anything about it."