"Just a moment, Miss Field," said she, magnificently. Harriet obediently stood still, and watched Madame Carter's magnificence settle itself slowly in a basket chair. The old lady freed an eyeglass ribbon deliberately, straightened a ruffle, laid her magazine beside her on a table. "There was a little matter of which I wished to speak to you," she said, suavely, bringing her distant glance to rest dispassionately for a moment upon Harriet's face.
Harriet waited, amused, annoyed, impatient.
"I understand," Madame Carter said, "that you and my son--for some reason best known to yourselves--have entered into a secret marriage?"
"Your first object, my dear, is not to antagonize his mother!" Harriet reminded herself. Aloud she said mildly: "You have no reason to disbelieve it, have you?"
"No reason to disbelieve my son!" his mother echoed, scandalized. "Why should I have! Mr. Carter is the soul of honour--absolutely the soul. Upon my word, I don't understand you!"
"I said you have no reason to disbelieve him," Harriet repeated. "You said that you UNDERSTOOD that we had been married. It is true!"
And she looked off toward the river with an expression as composed as that of Madame Carter herself.
"I suppose you know that old saying: 'A secret bride has a secret to hide!'" the older woman pursued, pleasantly.
"I never heard it. I did not play much with the children of the neighbourhood when I was a child," Harriet answered. "My father was very anxious to protect us from picking up expressions of that sort!"
There was a silence. Harriet, beginning to be ashamed of herself, did not look at her companion.