"Forgive me," cried Mrs. Rowe-Martin, but she did not attempt to unsay the words. She meant them to sink in when she uttered them. It was commonly predicted in society that Challis Wrandall's wife would further elevate herself by wedding the most dependable nobleman who came along, and without any appreciable consideration for the feelings of her late husband's family.
"It is quite natural—and right—that she should marry," said Mrs. Wrandall, after a moment's deliberation. "She is young and beautiful and we sincerely hope she will find some one—But, my dear, aren't we drifting? We were speaking of Leslie."
"And Miss Castleton. You are quite satisfied, then? You don't feel that he would be making a mistake?"
Mrs. Wrandall touched her handkerchief to the corners of her eyes.
"We could not possibly raise any objection to Miss Castleton, if that is what you mean, Harriet," she said.
"I am so glad you feel that way about it, my dear," said her friend, touching her handkerchief to her lips. "It would grieve me more than I can tell you if I thought you would have to go through with another experience like that of—Forgive me! I won't distress you by recalling those awful days. Poor, susceptible Challis!"
"No," said Mrs. Wrandall firmly; "Leslie is safe. We feel quite sure of him."
The visitor was reflective. "I suppose there is no doubt that Miss Castleton will accept him," she mused aloud.
"We are assuming, of course, that Leslie means to ask her," said Leslie's mother, with infinite patience.
"I only mentioned it because it is barely possible she may have other fish to fry."