“Why, Serena! how you talk! She never had any pet name, far's I ever heard. You might as well give a pet name to the Queen of Sheba. She—”
“Hush! it doesn't make any difference. Her name, Mrs. Black, was Lavinia. She was Mrs. Lavinia Dott, and her husband was James Dott, Daniel's father's brother. I shouldn't wonder if you knew her. She has spent most of her time in Europe lately, but her home, her American home, was where you live, in Scarford.”
This statement caused a marked sensation. Mrs. Black gasped audibly, and leaned back in her chair. B. Phelps evinced his first sign of interest.
“What!” he exclaimed. “Mrs. Lavinia Dott, of Scarford? You don't say! Why, of course we knew her; that is, we knew who she was. Everybody in Scarford did. Her place is one of the finest in town.”
Serena bowed. Life, for her, had not offered many sweeter moments than this.
“Yes,” she said, calmly, “so we understand. The place—er—that is, the estate—is a PART—” she emphasized the word—“a PART of what she left to my husband.”
“Great Scott!” exclaimed Mr. Black. His wife said nothing, but her face was a study.
Captain Dan crossed his knees.
“I remember seein' that place after Uncle Jim first built it,” he observed, reminiscently. “I tell you it looked big enough to me! I was only a young feller, just begun goin' to sea, and that house looked big as a town hall, you might say. Ho! ho! when I got inside and was sittin' in the front parlor, I declare I was all feet and hands! didn't know what to do with 'em.... Hey? did you speak, Serena?”
“I was only going to say,” replied his wife, “that that was a good while ago, of course. You have been about the world and seen a great deal since. Things look different after we grow up, don't they, Mrs. Black?”