“Well, that is one of the things they told me. It happened quite suddenly, the cause being heart failure, so after that they decided on this tour. They have with them also some one else that you know—a Mrs. Gray, who had a present made her of this tour by a gentleman whom she had nursed through an illness. How strange you look, Leola! You have grown pale, and you tremble. Are you ill?”
“Oh, no, papa—perhaps just a little nervous. Go on, papa, have you anything more to tell?”
“Not just now, my dear daughter—not till you take your luncheon. No? A drop of this wine, perhaps, to set you up. There, the color is coming back to your cheeks. Shall I ring to have the things taken away?”
She nodded, and they adjourned to their private parlor.
Then Alston Mead said, gently:
“My dear daughter, I have been hearing surprising things about you to-day. While I have been wondering at your indifference to men, it seems you already had a lover.”
Her cheeks paled, then flamed.
“Who has dared betray that unhappy episode of my past? Who has called his despicable name?” she half-sobbed.
Alston Mead put his arm about her tenderly, like a woman, with a soothing caress.
“Gently, dear; perhaps he does not deserve your scorn,” he said.