"You, Miss Barlow, you!" Bell exclaimed, forgetting in her astonishment to carry to her mouth the luscious half peach she had intended for that purpose, and dropping it untasted into the pan, while Katy, who had been listening with some considerable interest, came quickly forward, saying: "You, Aunt Betsy! When were you in New York, and why did I never know it?"
It could not be kept back, and, unmindful of Bell, Helen explained to Katy as well as she could the circumstances of Aunt Betsy's visit to New York the previous winter.
"And she never let me know it, or come to see me, because—because—" Katy hesitated, and looked at Bell, who said, pertly: "Because Will is so abominably proud, and would have made such a fuss. Don't spoil a story for relations' sake, I beg," and the young lady laughed good humoredly, restoring peace to all save Katy, whose face wore a troubled look, and who soon stole away to her mother, whom she questioned further with regard to a circumstance which seemed so mysterious to her.
"Miss Barlow," Bell said, when Katy was gone, "you will forgive one for repeating that story as I did. Of course I had no idea it was you of whom I was talking."
Bell was very earnest, and her eyes looked pleadingly upon Aunt Betsy, who answered her back: "There's nothing to forgive. You only told the truth. I did make an old fool of myself, but if I helped that boy to a right decision, my journey did some good, and I ain't sorry now if I did go to the playhouse. I confessed that to the sewing circle, and Mrs. Deacon Bannister ain't seemed the same toward me since, but I don't care. I beat her on the election to first directress of the Soldiers' Aid. She didn't run half as well as me. That chap you call Bob, is he anything to you? Is he your beau?"
It was Bell's turn now to blush and then grow white, while Helen lightly touching the superb diamond on her first finger, said: "That indicates as much. When did it happen, Bell?"
Mrs. Cameron had said they were not a family to bruit their affairs abroad, and if so, Bell was not like her family, for she answered frankly: "Just before he went away. It's a splendid diamond, isn't it?" and she held it up for Helen to inspect.
The basket was empty by this time, and as Aunt Betsy went to fill it from the trees, Bell and Helen were left alone, the former continuing in a low, sad tone: "I've been so sorry sometimes that I did not tell Bob I loved him, when he wished me to so much."
"Not tell him you loved him! How then could you tell him yes, as it appears you did?" Helen asked, and Bell answered: "I could not well help that; it came so sudden and he begged so hard, saying my promise would make him a better man, a better soldier and all that. It was the very night before he went, and so I said that out of pity and patriotism I would give the promise, and I did, but it seemed too much for a woman to tell a man all at once that she loved him, and I wouldn't do it, but I've been sorry since; oh, so sorry, during the two days when we heard nothing from him after that dreadful battle at Bull Run. We knew he was in it, and I thought I should die until his telegram came saying he was safe. I did sit down then and commence a letter, confessing all I felt, but I tore it up, and he don't know now just how I feel."
"And do you really love him?" Helen asked, puzzled by this strange girl, who laughingly held up her soft, white hand, stained and blackened with the juice of the fruit she had been paring, and said: "Do you suppose I would spoil my hands like that and incur _ma chère-mamma's_ displeasure, if Bob were not in the army and I did not care for him? And now that I have confessed so much, allow me to catechise you. Did Mark Ray ever propose and you refuse him?"