“This is Mrs. Morison, of New York, Julia,” said Mrs. Winstone, who had accelerated her steps. Her voice had lost its drawl.
“Mrs. Morison?” asked Julia, with a premonitory tremor.
“Yes—Emily Tay—but of course you’ve quite forgotten me. I never forgot you, though—and that terrible old castle you showed me for a solid hour.”
Julia had taken her hand mechanically, wondering if Nevis were shaking herself loose from the sea.
“Of course I do remember you. I liked your independence. But how odd you should be here.”
“Not a bit of it. I’m always after novelty—restless American, you know, and this is the very latest. Besides, my husband had an attack of Wall Street prostration, and this wasn’t too far. But it’s simply enchanting to see you again—I’ve been so proud these last two or three years to be able to say I knew you.”
Fanny cast a glance over her shoulder, then fell back between Mr. Pirie and Mr. Morison.
“I saw Dan in New York,” Dan’s sister rattled on. “It was too funny. He was in a beastly glum temper, until I mentioned your name. Then he cleared up so suddenly that I had my suspicions. Do you remember how dead in love with you he was at the tender age of fifteen, and what a time Cherry had inducing him to go home without you? I’ve just the ghost of an idea he hasn’t got over it. Poor Dan! Of course you’d never look at him.”
“And why not?” asked Julia, in arms.
“Well, you are some person over there, and California is the jumping-off place.”