He had stopped his ears against any news from Savin Hill. He even shrank from looking too closely at a Boston newspaper, lest he should see the name of Ffolliott.
Not a week ago Prudence had silently put before him a paper with her finger on a paragraph. This was the paragraph:
"At a reception lately given by Mrs. Letitia Ffolliott at her residence on Commonwealth Avenue, among the prominent guests was Lord Maxwell. His lordship came to the States some months ago, bringing an invalid wife. His friends will learn with regret that Lady Maxwell has since died. We understand that Lord Maxwell will remain in Boston for some weeks."
Lawrence's lip curled as he read these lines, and Mrs. Lawrence laughed.
"His lordship!" she exclaimed, and laughed again.
"How the fair women will smile upon him!" cynically remarked Lawrence; and he added, "Well, he hasn't a teaspoonful of brains, but he has his title."
"Yes," said Prudence, "and now he has the brewer's money without the brewer's daughter. Perhaps he will marry Carolyn Ffolliott."
Having sent this shaft, Prudence refrained from looking to see if it went home.
Lawrence said quietly that he did not believe Carolyn would marry a man she did not love; but then, she might love Maxwell.
And here the subject had dropped; but neither of these two forgot it.