“The picture was taken three or four years ago,” I said; “and Tom says it was never a good one.”
“Then you did know all the time that he was Miss Elliston’s Mr. Gordon, and you never told me?” Mrs. Trevyllan cried, in a slightly aggrieved tone of voice.
“I knew he was her brother’s friend,” I said, “but not till after he came home. Is she so very handsome?”
“Why, yes, I think she is, or at least she has a style and high-bred air better than mere beauty. Last night she was all in white, with blush roses on her dress, and in her hair, and when she walked or danced with Mr. Gordon, everybody remarked what a splendid couple they were, she so tall and graceful, and he so big and prince-like. Did you know they were engaged?”
She put the question direct, and I knew my cheeks were scarlet, as I replied:
“I supposed—yes. I—Tom told me he came home to be married; that’s all I know.”
I was taking my breakfast, and my hand shook so that I spilled my chocolate over the clean napkin and dropped my egg-spoon into my lap.
There was an interval of silence, and then the impulsive little lady burst out:
“I say, Miss Burton, it’s too bad. Here I’d been building a castle for you, and behold, Lucy Elliston is to be its mistress. I don’t like her as well as I did, I’m free to say, for I do not think she treated me as she should at the party; never introducing me to a person, or even speaking to me till just as I was leaving, when she was so glad I came, and hoped I had not found it very dull among so many strangers; and then, Miss Burton—I despise a talebearer—but I will tell you what I heard. I was standing by myself in a little window alcove, and Lucy came along with a tall, large woman, whom I think she called Lady Fairfax. They did not see me, and after the conversation commenced I dared not show myself, so I kept still and heard them talk of you.”
“Of me?” I exclaimed; and she continued: