My mother spoke over the banisters, and I opened the door, and let in McPherson.
He and I were jolly together, as old classmates are wont to be, and orders were given to lay a plate for him at dinner.
Mary prepared the service with her usual skill and care, but pleaded that her illness increased so that it would be impossible for her to wait on table. Now, nobody in the house thought there was anything peculiar about this but myself. My mother, indeed, had noticed that Mary’s faintness 461 had come on very suddenly, as she looked out on the street; but it was I who suggested to her that McPherson might have some connection with it.
“Depend upon it, mother, he is somebody whom she has known in her former life, and doesn’t wish to meet,” said I.
“Nonsense, Tom; you are always getting up mysteries, and fancying romances.”
Nevertheless, I took a vicious pleasure in experimenting on the subject; and therefore, a day or two after, when I had got Mary fairly within eye-range, as she waited on table, I remarked to my mother carelessly, “By the bye, the McPhersons are coming to Boston to live.”
There was a momentary jerk of Mary’s hand, as she was filling a tumbler, and then I could see the restraint of self-command passing all over her. I had hit something, I knew; so I pursued my game.
“Yes,” I continued, “Jim is here to look at houses; he is thinking strongly of one in the next block.”
There was a look of repressed fear and distress on Mary’s face as she hastily turned away, and made an errand into the china-closet.
“I have found a clue,” I said to my mother triumphantly, going to her room after dinner. “Did you notice Mary’s agitation when I spoke of the McPhersons coming to Boston? By Jove! but the girl is plucky, though; it was the least little start, and in a minute she had her visor down and her armor buckled. This certainly becomes interesting.”