Instantly into Arthur's eyes there came a look of cunning, as he replied:
"She is Gretchen. See that the carriage goes for her, will you?"
His voice and manner indicated that he wished the conference ended, and with a great sinking at his heart Frank left the room and returned to his guests and his wife, who had not seen the stranger when he entered the hall, and did not know of Arthur's arrival until her husband rejoined her.
"He has come," he whispered to her, while she whispered back:
"Is he alone?"
"Yes, but somebody is coming to-morrow; I do not know who; Gretchen, he calls her," was Frank's reply.
"Gretchen!" Mrs. Tracy repeated, in a trembling voice. "Who is she?"
"I don't know. He merely said she was Gretchen; his daughter, perhaps," was Frank's answer, which sent the color from his wife's cheeks, and made her so faint and sick that she could scarcely stand, and did not know at all what her guests were saying to her.
Meantime, Arthur had changed his mind with regard to going down into the parlors, and, unlocking the trunk which held his own wardrobe, he took out an evening suit fresh from the hands of a London tailor, and, arraying himself in it, stood for a moment before the glass to see the effect. Everything was faultless, from his neck-tie to his boots; and, opening the door, he went into the hall, which was empty, except for Harold, who was sitting near the stairs, half asleep again. Most of the guests were in the supper-room, but a few of the younger portion were dancing, and the strains of music were heard with great distinctness in the upper hall.
"Ugh!" Arthur said, with a shiver, as he stopped a moment to listen, while his quick eye took in every detail of the furniture and its arrangement in the hall. "That violinist ought to be hung—the pianist, too! Don't they know what horrid discord they are making? It brings that heat back. I believe, upon my soul, I shall have to bathe my face again."