“Can you tell me nothing of your mistress,” he said, aloud, for he thought himself alone.
Instantly the cat, whose ear had caught a sound he did not hear, bounded toward the door where Marian Grey was standing. Advancing toward her, Frederic said, “You must excuse me, Miss Grey. I am not often guilty of petting cats, but this one has a peculiar attraction for me, inasmuch as it once belonged to—to—to Mrs. Raymond,” and Frederic felt vastly relieved to think he had actually spoken of his wife to Marian Grey, and called her Mrs. Raymond, too! He knew Will Gordon had told her the story, and when he saw how the color came and went upon her cheek, he fancied that it arose from the delicacy she would naturally feel in talking with him of his runaway wife. He was glad he had introduced the subject, and she should continue it or not, as she choose. Marian hardly knew how to reply, for though she longed to hear what he had to say of Mrs. Raymond, she scarcely dared trust herself to question him.
At last, however, she ventured to say, “Yes, Alice told me that it was once your wife’s. She is dead, isn’t she?”
Frederic started, and walking off a few paces, replied, “Marian dead! not that I know of! Did you ever hear that she was?” and he came back to Marian, looking at her so earnestly that she colored deeply, as she replied:
“Mr. Gordon told me something of her; and I had the impression that——”
She did not know how to finish the sentence, and she was glad to hear a little, uncertain step upon the stairs, as that was an excuse for her to break off abruptly, and go to Alice, who had come down in quest of her, expressing much surprise that she should rise so early and dress so quietly.
“Mrs. Jones used to make such a noise coughing and sneezing,” she said, “that she always woke me, while Isabel never got up till breakfast was ready, and sometimes not then, when we were in Kentucky. Negroes were made to wait on her, she said. She’ll be coming over here to call and see how you look. I heard her asking Mrs. Russell last week if you were pretty, and she said——”
“Never mind what she said,” suggested Marian, adding laughingly, “I have heard of Miss Huntington before. Will Gordon told me of her, and Ben, too. He saw her in Kentucky, you know; so you see, I am tolerably well posted in your affairs;” and she turned towards Frederic, who was about to answer, when Alice, who had climbed into a chair, and was standing with her arm around the young man’s neck, chimed in:
“If Mr. Gordon told you that Frederic liked her, it isn’t so, for he don’t; do you, Frederic?”
“I like all the ladies,” was his reply; and the breakfast bell just then rang, the conversation ceased, and they entered the house together, Alice holding fast to Marian’s hand, and dancing along like a joyous bird.