“What do you mean?” asked Marian. “Where is Isabel?” and as Frederic then passed her the telegram, she continued to ask questions, until she had learned the whole.
“Poor girl!” she sighed; “I pity her, and if she were here, I would so gladly take care of her.”
Instantly there flashed upon Alice’s mind an idea every way worthy of her, but she would not suggest it then, as it was growing late, and when she heard ere long a loud yawn from Ben, she thoughtfully rang the bell, bidding the servant who came “show Mr. Burt to his room;” then, kissing Frederic and Marian goodnight, she, too, departed, leaving them alone.
Next morning, at the breakfast table, she said to Frederic:
“Don’t folks most always take a bridal tour?”
“Sometimes, when they can’t be happy at home,” returned Frederic. “Where does my blind birdie wish to go?”
“I don’t really wish to go,” answered Alice; “but wouldn’t it be nice to surprise poor Isabel, lying so bruised and sick in that old farm-house in Ohio? Maybe she wants money? I heard them say at Yonkers that she had spent all Mr. Rivers left her, except the house, and that was mortgaged. I’ve got ten dollars that I’ll give her.”
“Blessed baby!” said Ben, bringing out his pocket-handkerchief, which he was pretty sure to need.
This suggestion was warmly seconded by Marian, and after a little further consultation, it was decided that they should start the next day for the place where Isabel lay sick.
“She may confess about the letters,” said Marian, “and that will make me like her so much better.”