“Happy!” she repeated. “Has your husband been pardoned?”
“No, miss; but haven't you heard?”
“No,” Carry said, “I have heard nothing. I have not been in for the last few days because I was afraid of being in the way. What has happened?”
“Why, Miss Carry,” Sarah Holl broke out, “you'd hardly believe it, but it's true; a gentleman, God bless him, has offered to pay Bessy's passage out to Australia to join William there, and in another year she'll be starting.”
“That is very kind of him, Mrs. Holl. Who is he?”
“His name is Maynard, him as our Evan is with.”
James was watching Carry's face, and saw a sudden rush of colour come up into it at the name. To tell the truth, Carry had thought a good deal of Frank Maynard since that solitary visit of his. His having saved her father's life had endowed him in her eyes with all the qualities of a hero of romance. She had thought over that interview very many times, and never without blushing at the thoughts of the kiss she had given him. He had said he would come again, and very eagerly had she looked forward to his next visit, but as days and weeks had passed on without his coming, she felt both very resentful and hurt. Did he think her so forward that he would not come again? Or did he not think them worth another visit? Her only consolation had been that perhaps he was out of town all this time. And now this hope was dispelled, and Carry blushed even deeper than before with pique and wounded pride.
“Is it the Mr. Maynard who lives in the Temple?” she asked, clinging to a last hope.
“Yes, Miss Carry. Do you know him?”
“A little,” Carry said, coldly; “he picked my father up one evening last winter when he had slipped down in Knightsbridge.”