CHAPTER ELEVENTH
MRS. MARVIN IS PERPLEXED.
"Jack's little girl! can it be? It is the strangest thing that ever happened to me. I do not understand it." Mrs. Marvin paced restlessly back and forth, an expression of pain and perplexity on her handsome face.
"Why should I care?" she thought; "what is it to me? I gave it all up long ago.— And yet—that dear little girl—those eyes—a Morrison every inch of her! There can be no mistake, but it is all a mystery how she happened to come here. How weak I am! why should it torture me so? Oh, Jack, Jack!" She hid her face in her hands.
It showed, however, no trace of emotion when half an hour later she encountered her housekeeper in the upper hall.
"Caroline, who is the little girl who came to see you this afternoon?" she asked.
"I suppose it was Emma Bond, Miss Frances; her mother has been hemstitching some pillow cases."
"Do you know anything about the child who was with her? I think she said she lived in the same house."
"I don't know who she is, Miss Frances. She is a pretty child, but I don't remember her name if I ever heard it."