Irene looked so plainly disgusted at the mention of her lover's name that Mrs. Leslie forebore to tease her. She delicately changed the subject.
"Mr. Stuart came back from his trip to Florence this evening, and brought us some sad news," she said.
Irene tried hard to look interested in this communication, but failed dismally. Her own troubles absorbed all her care.
"There has been the most terrible ocean disaster," continued Mrs. Leslie. "Two American steamers, one homeward bound, the other en route for Italy, collided in mid-ocean at midnight, with a horrible loss of human life. Is it not awful?"
Irene tried to look properly shocked, but heart and brain were so numbed by her own grief that she could scarcely comprehend the extent of the calamity her friend was bewailing.
"It is very dreadful," she murmured, feebly.
"Is it not?" said Mrs. Leslie, in awe-struck tones; "and, only think, Irene, I was personally acquainted with one of the passengers who perished in the wreck. I met him once while visiting my sister in Baltimore. He was very handsome and agreeable, besides being very wealthy. His name was Guy Kenmore."
She paused, and uttered a cry of alarm in the next breath. Irene had gasped convulsively once or twice, then fainted dead away.