Isabel told him the particulars of Mrs. Burt’s going, and he continued:
“Was there no one else here when you came? No young girl with soft blue eyes?” and he looked eagerly at her.
“Yes,” she replied. “There was a queer acting thing sitting in the arm-chair the night I first came in—”
“Who was she, and where is she now?” he asked and Isabel answered, “I am sure I don’t know where she is, for she vanished like a ghost.”
“Yes, yes; but who was she? Did she have no name?” and Frederic clutched Isabel’s arm nervously.
“Mrs. Merton told me it was her daughter—that is all I know,” said Isabel; and in a tone of disappointment he continued:
“Will you tell me just how she looked, and how she acted when you first saw her?”
“One would suppose you deeply interested in your nurse’s daughter;” and the glittering black eyes flashed scornfully upon Frederic, who replied:
“I am interested, for she saved my life. Tell me, won’t you, how she looked?”
“Well, then,” returned Isabel pettishly, “she was about fifteen, I think—certainly not older than that. Her face was very white, with big, blue eyes, which glared at me like a wild beast’s; and what is queerer than all, she actually sobbed when I, or rather, you kissed me; perhaps you have forgotten that you did?”