"But d-d-do you know how they died?" cried Mrs. Wodehouse, becoming every moment more agitated; "and the terrible closet in Blood Hall?" And beginning to wring her hands, she sobbed.
"Oh, Theo, Theo—I've introduced to you the original Bl—I can't call the dreadful name. But he's the original B-Bluebe—"
At this Anne turned deadly pale, and running over to her sister threw her arms about Theodora's neck.
"Oh, Theo, darling, don't—don't have anything to do with that dreadful man! Did you notice the color of his beard—it was perfectly blue black! I understand, if Theo doesn't—"
Just then a scream resounded behind them. Mrs. March, in a costume very like the one in which Zerlina in the opera dances before the looking-glass, had entered unobserved, and had heard it all and being a highly nervous and excitable person, shrieked at the terrible insinuation which she at once comprehended. Theodora jumped up and gazed around imperiously.
"For Heaven's sake, don't behave so! I never saw Sir John in my life until to-night, and here you are going on as if I were to marry him to-morrow!"
"This is the way he always does," whimpered Mrs. Wodehouse. "The poor misguided girls fall in love with him and marry him—the last one at Constantinople—her name was Fatima—something or other."
"I dare say," said Theodora, with wide, bright eyes and a voice full of scorn, "he never married an American girl. He wouldn't find one of them so easy to get rid of if he is what you intimate he is."
"Theodora," sobbed Mrs. March, "I'll never, never give my consent. I don't care if he is Marquis of Longacre, or Duke of Longacre, or Prince of Longacre, he shall never have my precious child."
Theodora by this time was walking up and down the room with her pretty brows bent. Presently she came and stood in front of her mother.