"Is she a widow?"
"Yes. Had a frightful time with her husband, I understand. Poor girl!"
At this, Dorothy bit her lip.
"I caught a glimpse of the lady's face," she said sweetly. "She looked like some one I used to know in Evansville."
A peculiar nuance of her voice held Wren's attention.
"Eh? She's the same one?"
"Oh, of course not—merely a fancied resemblance," responded Dorothy with assurance. "You see, Jimmy, this Evansville girl was very unfortunate; Viola Bland was her name. She was a stunning beauty, and her mother forced her to marry for money, and—well, poor Viola just didn't care, I suppose!"
"How do you mean?" queried Wren, staring at her. Dorothy made an indescribable gesture.
"A terrible scandal, my dear Jimmy! She became quite the talk of the town. Finally she decamped with another lady's husband and there were divorces and everything. I always felt very sorry for poor Viola."
Jimmy Wren blushed faintly, but looked relieved.