“Do you think so, Tisha?” he asked.
“I know it; no thinking about it, neither. She is going to mass; but she'll see you for a little while, anyway.”
Opening the parlor door for Darrell to walk in, Tisha ran up stairs to Mary's room.
“Oh Miss Mary!” said she, “guess who is down stairs.”
“I couldn't, Tish, being so early and on Sunday, but I heard a man's voice. Is it a gentleman?”
“You bet; ah! please excuse me, I mean sure as I live it is, and no other than Mr. Darrell, from New England.”
“Ah!” said Miss Mary, affecting indifference, but her hands trembled as she tied her bonnet strings.
Darrell knew he must appear self-contained and not in the least impetuous, but when he saw those beautiful dark eyes of Mary's he forgot all his pretended calmness.
“Is my aunt well?” Mary began as she came in.
“Yes, yes, everybody is well; don't be alarmed at my coming, I know it must seem strange to you. Two days ago I had no idea of coming to Washington, but Miss Moreneau, your aunt told me you were not coming North this summer, and this news nearly drove me crazy.”