"Juno be—"
Wilford did not say what, for he seldom swore, and never in a lady's presence, even if the lady were his wife. So he said, instead:
"It was very unkind in Juno to distress you thus with matters about which she knew nothing."
"But did you?" Katy asked again. "Was there not a Sybil Grey, or some one of that name?"
At mention of Sybil Grey, Wilford looked relieved, and answered her at once:
"Yes, there was a Sybil Grey, Mrs. Judge Grandon now, and a dashing widow. Don't sigh so wearily," he continued, as Katy drew a gasping breath. "Knowing she was a widow, I chose you, thus showing which I preferred. Few men live to be thirty without more or less fancies, which under some circumstances might ripen into something stronger, and I am not an exception. I never loved Sybil Grey, nor wished to make her my wife. I admired her very much. I admire her yet, and among all my acquaintances there is not one upon whom I would care to have you make so good an impression as upon her, nor one whose manner you could better imitate."
"Oh, will she call? Shall I see her?" Katy asked, beginning to feel alarmed at the very thought of Sybil Grey, with all her polish and manner.
"She is spending the winter in New Orleans with her late husband's relatives. She will not return till spring," Wilford replied. "But do not look so distressed, for I tell you solemnly that I never loved another as I love you, my wife. Do you believe me?"
"Yes," and Katy's head drooped upon his shoulder.
She was satisfied with regard to Sybil Grandon, only hoping she would not have to meet her when she came home. But the picture. Whose was that? Not Sybil's certainly, else Juno would have known. The picture troubled her, but she dared not speak of it, Wilford had seemed so angry at Juno. Still, she would probe him a little further, and so she continued: