“Did you ever hear of Mr. Frost in New York?”
With a suppressed sigh, she answered:
“He is an artist of considerable note, I knew him very well.”
Suddenly Mrs. McDowell remembered that this was the bold man of whom Cherokee had told her much; so she questioned her no more, for she was always tender and thoughtful of others.
The Major did not understand any connection of names, and he again alluded to the subject.
“This New Yorker said it was about a girl; but the whole thing, to me, savors of some man’s hand—one who did not like him well.”
Here the wife changed the subject by asking:
“Who got any letters? I didn’t see the boy when he brought the mail.”
“Cherokee must have had a love letter or a secret,” remarked the Major cheerily. “I saw her tearing it into tiny bits, and casting them in a white shower on the grass.”
“Come, come, girlie, tell us all about it;” then suddenly the lady said: “How pale you are!”