"Who is the lady?" asked Miss Hughes, inspecting some object that lay near her with every appearance of unconcern.
"That's a secret," said Mrs. Lewis; "I know her name; she does not know he is in love with her yet; but I am going to give her a letter to-morrow night, telling her all about it."
"I should like to know her name," said Miss Hughes.
"Why," returned Mrs. Lewis, "you see I promised Joe not to tell; but as you are so very anxious to know, I can let you into the secret without breaking my word: you shall see the direction of the letter."
Miss Hughes was quite delighted with the idea, and left the room, after making an appointment for the ensuing evening for that purpose.
Such was Mrs. Lewis's tale in brief; after hearing which, Grimaldi, who, not being so well acquainted with the subject, was not so sanguine, went home to bed, but not to sleep: his thoughts wavering between his friend's communication, and the love-letter, of which he could not help thinking that he could still polish up a sentence or two with considerable advantage.
The next morning was one of great agitation, and when Mrs. Lewis posted off to the theatre with the important epistle in her pocket, the lover fell into such a tremor of anxiety and suspense, that he was quite unconscious how the day passed: he could stay away from the theatre no longer than five o'clock, at which time he hurried down to ascertain the fate of his letter.
"I have not been able to give it yet," said Mrs. Lewis, softly, "but do you just go to the dressing-room; she is there:—only look at her, and guess whether she cares for you or not."
He went, and saw Miss Hughes looking very pale, with traces of tears on her face. Six o'clock soon came, and the young lady, hurrying to the room of the confidante, eagerly inquired whether she had got Joe's letter.
"I have," said Mrs. Lewis, looking very sly.