Edith's color rose, her eyes fell on the tatting between her fingers.
"Your brother and the lady are old lovers then? So I inferred from her conversation last night."
"I don't know about their being lovers exactly. Charley has that ridiculous flirting manner, young men think it their duty to cultivate, and it certainly was a strong case of spoons—excuse the slang. Pa would never have listened to it, though—he wants birth and blood too, and old Hampson's a pork merchant. Then Phineas Featherbrain came along, sixty years of age, and a petroleum prince. Of course, there was a gorgeous wedding—New York rang with it. I don't see that the marriage makes much difference in Charley and Laura's flirtation, though. Just wait a minute and I'll go and get the papers—I haven't read it all myself."
Miss Stuart swept, stately and tall, from the room, returning in a few moments with some half-dozen old, yellow newspapers.
"Here you are, sir," she cries, in shrill newsboy singsong; "the full, true and particular account of the tragedy at Catheron Royals. Sounds like the title of a sensation novel, doesn't it? Here's No. 1 for you—I've got on as far as No. 4."
Miss Darrell throws aside her work and becomes absorbed in the Chesholm Courier of twenty-three years back. Silence fell—the moments wore on—the girls become intensely interested, so interested that when the door was thrown open and "Sir Victor Catheron" announced, both sprang to their feet, conscience-stricken with all their guilt, red in their faces.
He advanced, hat in hand, a smile on his face. He was beside Trix first. She stood, the paper still clutched in her hand, her cheeks redder than the crimson velvet carpet. His astonished eyes fell upon it—he who ran might read—the Chesholm Courier in big, black letters, and in staring capitals, the "TRADGEDY OF CATHERON ROYALS."
The smile faded from Sir Victor Catheron's lips, the faint color, walking in the chill wind had brought, died out of his face. He turned of that dead waxen whiteness, fair people do turn—then he lifted his eyes and looked Miss Stuart full in the face.
"May I ask where you got this paper?" he asked, very quietly.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" burst out Trixy. "I'm awfully sorry, but I—I didn't know—I mean, I didn't mean—oh, Sir Victor, forgive me if I have hurt your feelings. I never meant you to see this."