Then, to his surprise, Josephine made the first advance. Crossing the room, she held out her hand as she said: “Marlita, dear, please try to be glad for my happiness. You and I were room-mates at boarding-school, and now—”
She said no more, for the girl to whom she had spoken drew herself away coldly. “You are not honest, Josephine Bayley,” she said, “posing as a woodcutter’s daughter when—”
The young teacher shook her head. “I have not posed,” she replied quietly. “Frederick has asked no questions concerning my family.” Then, again holding out her hand, she pleaded, “Marlita, won’t you be my friend?”
But the girl whom she addressed tossed her head and left the room, beckoning her sister and Lord Dunsbury to follow, which they did.
When the three were alone, Frederick, whose astonishment had seemed to render him speechless, apologized. “Pardon me, Aunt Delia,” he said, “permit me to introduce to you my fiancée.”
“We’ll waive the formality of an introduction,” replied the woman, who, through half-closed eyes, had been watching the little drama.
Then, turning to the girl in gray, she asked, “Are you the daughter of William Wallace Bayley whose summer home is in the Orange Hills, and whose winter home is in New York on the Hudson?”
“I am,” was the quiet reply.
It was Frederick Edrington’s turn to be amazed, but his aunt was continuing: “I thought so. With my former husband, Mr. James Haddington-Allen, I frequently visited your home when you were a very small child.”
The young school-teacher stepped forward, as she asked eagerly: “You—are you Mrs. James Haddington-Allen? Frederick has always spoken of you as Mrs. Edrington.”