Days passed, and Pansy found some relief from the haunting image of Norman Wylde in thinking of the little child that she firmly believed to be her own. She struck up a great intimacy with the Wyldes in hopes of seeing the little one more frequently; but she was disappointed.
Apparently the housekeeper had received strict orders, for Pet’s black eyes were no longer to be seen laughing around the drawing-room door, nor his footsteps heard pattering through the halls. There was a sunny plot of grass in the back yard where he played all day now, except when he was in that part of the house allotted to the housekeeper.
But he had never forgotten the “pretty yady,” and he often asked Mrs. Meade, the housekeeper, about her, prattling so sweetly that the good old woman grew quite curious, and at last asked Mrs. Wylde about Mrs. Falconer.
“Yes, she is very beautiful—the most beautiful woman I ever saw,” Mrs. Wylde admitted. “She took quite a fancy to Pet, and admitted she was fond of children.”
“He is always talking about her. I never knew him so fond of any one before,” said Mrs. Meade. “Did you say she came from California, ma’am?”
“Colonel Falconer married her in California, but she is a native of Kentucky, and was never in Richmond until now,” was the reply, which, if Mrs. Meade had harbored any suspicion, at once dissipated.
Still she cherished a desire to see the woman who had been so kind to her little adopted child as to win its warm little heart.
“I’d like to thank her for noticing the poor, forsaken little lamb,” she said to herself. “No one ever shows it any kindness, except Mr. Norman, and Heaven knows he ought to love it, for I firmly believe he is the father, though whether he suspects it or not, I can’t tell. Anyway, he’s fond of it, and kind to it.”
CHAPTER XXIII.
A DARING MOVE.
Fate helped Mrs. Meade to the accomplishment of her wish.