“Hark! wasn’t that a carriage stopping at our door?” she said, looking up from her book and addressing her maid. “Yes, there’s a ring.”
“Katty’ll go. It’s Miss Ethel come home early, I presume, Madame,” answered Mary, not troubling herself to rise from her chair.
There was the sound of Kathleen’s step in the hall, the opening of the door, a man’s voice speaking, then the girl came quickly up the stairs and appeared before her mistress.
“Mr. Alden, Madame, and he wants to know may he come up here and spake till ye? Oh, don’t go for to be scared! Miss Ethel’s all right,” as the Madame turned pale and half rose from her chair.
“Bring him up then,” she gasped, falling back again and panting for breath.
She put no faith in Kathleen’s assurance, and was terribly alarmed. To lose Ethel would be almost like losing her own life.
But one glance at Espy’s face reassured her.
“Ah, Madame,” he said cheerily, declining by a wave of the hand the seat she pointed to, “I met a gentleman out at the Centennial who says he is a very old friend of yours, and would like much to see and speak with you. I have brought him to the house, feeling pretty sure you would be pleased to see him, but thought best to give you a little warning and an opportunity to decline doing so if you wished.”
“Who is he?”