“Indeed!” returned Mrs. Carver, with an emphasis which bespoke surprise.
“Yes,” continued Mrs. Merton, unconsciously. “It was a Miss Cameron, whose father lives on Fifth Avenue. Her father is very rich, and she is very fond of Mary.”
“I should think she was—uncommonly,” remarked Mrs. Carver.
“There’s some secret here,” she thought. “I must find it out.”
“Mary, my dear,” she said, aloud, “come here, and let me look at your pencil.”
Mary advanced reluctantly. There was something in the visitor’s tone that made her feel uncomfortable. It was evident that Mrs. Carver did not accept the account she had given as readily as her mother.
“It is a very handsome pencil,” said Mrs. Carver, after examination. “You are certainly very lucky, Mary. My Grace is not so fortunate. So this Mrs. Cameron lives on Fifth Avenue?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And her father sends her to a public school. That’s rather singular,—isn’t it?”
“So it is,” said Mrs. Merton. “I didn’t think of that. And the family is very proud too, you say, Mary?”