"That is a beautiful name," cried the woman—"Ida May Lester. That is what it shall be!"
Somehow the naming of the poor waif gave to the hapless young wife a great relief.
[CHAPTER XXXVI.]
Ida wended her way over the flower-strewn meadow, with her heart beating more wildly than it had ever beaten before. She could not forget the flower-like little infant that had looked up into her face, and which had so strangely affected her.
Even the guests noted her heightened color; and Vivian Deane, watching her narrowly from across the table, wondered what brought the brightness to her eyes.
She looked at Eugene Mallard with intense interest. Surely there was no corresponding gladness in his eyes. Indeed, he looked unusually careworn.
"I will soon find out what has happened," said Vivian, with a pang of bitter jealousy.
A little later Vivian sought Ida in her boudoir.
"It has commenced to rain," she said, "and I am at a loss to know what to do with myself. The Staples girls have gone to their rooms to rest, and their mother wearies me talking about Christian charity. The gentlemen have repaired to the smoking-room, and so I have sought you."