“Mr. Norman, are you sure she drowned herself?” she asked eagerly.
“Sure!” he repeated, turning toward her, with wondering eyes. “Why, what do you mean, Mrs. Meade?”
“Was her body ever recovered from the river?” retorted the housekeeper significantly.
He started violently, then answered:
“No!”
“So I thought,” said Mrs. Meade, and, following up her train of thought, she added: “There isn’t any possibility that Mrs. Falconer can be the same girl, is there, Mr. Norman?”
He sprang from his seat, pushing Pet unconsciously from him, and confronted her, pale with surprise and excitement.
“You must be mad!” he exclaimed. “This lady was one of the belles of Louisville—never was in Richmond until this summer, I am told.”
“Sit down, Mr. Norman, and forgive me for talking like an old fool, although maybe I’m not such a fool, after all,” answered Mrs. Meade. But he would not sit down again; he remained standing in front of her and looking down consciously into her agitated face as she continued, in a low, grave voice:
“Being such an old woman, Mr. Norman, and knowing you ever since you was no bigger than Pet here, you needn’t mind my asking you questions that might be impertinent from some people.”