Mrs. Mason, who had seen and heard more than Mary fancied, and who in seating her guests had contrived to bring Mary's plate next to Mrs. Lincoln, nodded, and Jenny springing up ran to the parlor, where Mary stood counting flies, looking up at the ceiling, and trying various other ways to keep from crying. Seizing both her hands Jenny almost dragged her into the dining-room, where she found it rather difficult squeezing in between her mother and Rose, whose elbows took up much more room than was necessary. A timely pinch, however, duly administered, sent the young lady along an inch or so, and Jenny and Mary were at last fairly seated.
Mrs. Lincoln reddened,—Mrs. Campbell looked concerned,—Mrs. Mason amused,—Rose angry,—Mary mortified,—while Ella, who was not quick enough to understand, did not look at all except at her strawberries, which disappeared rapidly. Then in order to attract attention, she scraped her saucer as loudly as possible; but for once Mrs. Mason was very obtuse, not even taking the hint when Mrs. Campbell removed a portion of her own fruit to the plate of the pouting child, bidding her "eat something besides berries."
After a time Mrs. Lincoln thought proper to break the silence which she had preserved, and taking up her fork said, "You have been buying some new silver, haven't you?"
"They were a present to me from my friend, Miss Martha Selden," was Mrs. Mason's reply.
"Possible!" said Mrs. Campbell.
"Indeed!" said Mrs. Lincoln, and again closely examining the fork, she continued, "Aunt Martha is really getting liberal in her old age. But then I suppose she thinks Ida is provided for, and there'll be no particular need of her money in that quarter."
"Provided for? How?" asked Mrs. Mason, and Mrs Lincoln answered, "Why didn't you know that Mr. Selden's orphan nephew, George Moreland, had come over from England to live with him? He is heir to a large fortune, and it is said that both Mr. Selden and Aunt Martha are straining every nerve to eventually bring about a match between George and Ida."
There was no reason why Mary should blush at the mention of George Moreland, still she did do so, while Jenny slyly stepped upon her toes. But her embarrassment was unobserved, for what did she, a pauper girl, know or care about one whose future destiny, and wife too, were even then the subject of more than one scheming mother's speculations. Mrs. Mason smiled, and said she thought it very much like child's play, for if she remembered rightly Ida couldn't be more than thirteen or fourteen.
"About that," returned Mrs. Lincoln; "but the young man is older,—eighteen or nineteen, I think."
"No, mother," interrupted Jenny, who was as good at keeping ages as some old women, "he isn't but seventeen."