They had landed in New York two weeks before and been detained there. Harry had written to Kenneth that he expected to reach Millville on Thursday afternoon, and asked that his new carriage be sent to meet him. He had thanked his uncle for signing his note to Jones, but he had made no mention of Connie’s signature. Probably he did not know of it, or that she was at the farmhouse, for Kenneth had never mentioned her in the few letters sent to his cousin since she came. Everything that could be done to make the house and grounds attractive had been done, and people had driven for miles to see and admire and wonder that so much should be expended upon a place which was to be occupied only during the summer. His winters he should spend in New York or Florida, Hal had written to Green, his agent, who superintended everything. Three or four fine horses and two or three carriages had come to the villa, awaiting Hal’s approbation, and it was in one of the latter that Kenneth went down to the station to meet the four o’clock train from New York.
It was not often that many people were there at that time of day, and Kenneth was surprised at the crowd he found waiting. They had all been through the handsome house and grounds, and heard of the handsome wife, and were there to see her and Harry, who, with so much grandeur, was invested with an added importance to their minds. The train was on time and only stopped a moment to deposit six or eight trunks and three people,—a middle-aged colored woman wearing a red turban and carrying a bundle which looked very much like a baby; another colored girl loaded with parcels, and a young lady, who stood looking timidly around at the crowd staring curiously at her, and wondering where her husband was. Kenneth saw her and hurried towards her, noticing that she was a brunette with a brilliant complexion and soft dark eyes, which lighted up wonderfully the moment she saw him.
“Mrs. Morris?” he said, and she replied, “Yes, and you are Dr. Kenneth, Harry’s cousin, I am sure, and I am so glad to meet you. I’m not used to travelling alone, and Harry had to stay in New York at the very last on that tiresome business, I don’t know what it is. I wanted to stay, too, but he said I must come, and I’m here. He is coming in a few days.”
She talked rapidly and kept her eyes fixed upon the turbaned woman, whom she called Cindy, and who was hushing the white bundle in her arms with a cooing kind of sound. Kenneth was looking at her, too, and at the bundle, which was certainly alive. Detecting the surprise in his face, the lady said: “It’s our baby, three months old. Harry wouldn’t write it, as he wanted to surprise you all. She is a little beauty. Come here, Cindy, and show the baby. There! Isn’t she lovely?” she continued, when the flimsy covering was removed, showing a little round baby face in which Kenneth saw a look like his cousin. “She has such a pretty name, too,” the proud mother continued, “Constance, though we call her Connie.”
“Constance!” Kenneth repeated in surprise, while Kitty replied: “Yes, it was Harry’s idea. She was born in Constance, and that made him think of it.”
“We have a Constance here, whom we call Connie,” Kenneth said, as he led the way to the brougham, and while they were on the way to the villa he explained who she was and said: “You are sure to like her.”
“I know I shall,” Kitty answered, “and I am so glad she is here. I was afraid I might be rather lonely. Harry said there was no—no——”
She stopped suddenly, while Kenneth rejoined: “No ladies of just your kind? You are right, Mrs. Morris, but Connie is different. Connie is——”
“Yes, I see. I understand what Connie is, but please call me Kitty. I’m your cousin, you know,” Kitty said, and added, “funny baby should be called Connie, too; but I’m glad that she is.”
She was a bright, sparkling little woman, and talked all the time during the drive until they came in sight of the house, when she sprang up and clasped her hands with delight.