“That rusty little English widow? Impossible!”
“Not at all!” cried Sadie, enjoying his surprise very much.
And as she filled his cup again, she added:
“If you had seen a very handsome young man calling on me this evening after you went away, you would have said ‘impossible’ then; but you would have been mistaken, for Widow Karrick was Fair Fielding, and the handsome young man was Fair Fielding. What have you to say to that, sir?”
And after she had enjoyed his astonishment long enough, she told him without reserve the whole of Fair’s story as she had just heard it from the lips of her friend.
She ended by saying:
“She came to me in her trouble, although she is half afraid to meet you, Waverley, on account of old times, when she was rather rude to you, you know. But I don’t think you bear her any grudge, do you?”
“Bless her, no!” cried Waverley Osborne heartily, although his face flushed slightly as he thought of the days when Fair’s bewitching beauty had made of him such a simpleton.
“I’m glad you don’t,” said his wife, “because we are her only friends, she says, and I’ve kept her with me. She has the little spare room that I fixed in case my sister should ever visit me.”
“She’s welcome to it,” said Waverley Osborne heartily. He was so fond of his good-hearted, sensible little wife that the last resentment against beautiful Fair had died long ago. Sadie had saved all the money Fair had sent to her from Italy, in care of the factory owners, and now Fair could have that money to live on.