“Ah!” said Cecil, his momentary flash of interest dying out.
A moment’s eager suspicion had awakened in him, then died out again. He had no interest in the widow and child of Sir Edward’s son, as the bride, who was a little awry in her facts, called them.
“Poor Sir Edward! They say he tried to make up in kindness to them for his cruelty to his son,” continued the pretty English girl. “He died last year; and after what came by law of entail to his wife and grandson, he gave all the rest of his money to the beautiful Mrs. Trueheart.”
“Was she beautiful?” asked Dot, who adored beauty.
“As a dream!” replied her sister-in-law, enthusiastically. “I have heard her called the most beautiful lady in England, and no one speaks of her low birth now, since Sir Edward took her up and left her so much money. Lord and Lady Westerley adore her and her child.”
“They ought to do so, since she brought them their happiness,” said some one; and then the conversation languished, as no one took any interest in Sir Edward Trueheart’s relative except Mrs. Doctor Charley.
Charley himself, who had never met any of the Truehearts for years, had no suspicion of the truth that the Mrs. Trueheart of his wife’s story was his brother’s missing wife and Sir Edward Trueheart’s granddaughter—not his daughter-in-law, as the bungling story ran. He did not even connect the name with Molly Trueheart, whose mother had been an actress and her father, no doubt, an actor.
CHAPTER XLII.
“Cecil,” his mother said one week later, “do you never intend to marry again?”
“You forget that I have a wife already,” with a frown.