If Mrs. Le Breton and Eweretta guessed they kept their knowledge to themselves, not speaking of it even to each other.
Nothing took Alvin so completely out of himself as riding with Eweretta.
They went long distances, spending the whole day sometimes, and lunching at an inn, while the horses rested.
They often went to Winchelsea and to Rye, because Eweretta had shown herself so charmed with these old-world places on their first visit.
It was when Alvin and Eweretta were returning from one of these expeditions that Alvin asked the girl what she had written to Dan in reply to the gift of flowers.
“I did not write myself. I dictated to ‘mother,’ for I thought that Dan might chance to show the letter to Philip, and he would of course recognize my handwriting. I thanked him nicely—that was all.”
“Dan!” She had not said Mr. Webster. That was what Alvin noted.
She herself had spoken the name quite unconsciously. She always thought of him as Dan.
“Of course,” the girl went on, reining in her horse a little that they might talk more easily, “of course, Philip would only think it an extraordinary incident that Aimée and I should write so much alike, but it might put him on the track of the—” she hesitated a second, then added—“fraud. And now, uncle, I would not for anything in the world have Philip know I am alive. Let him marry that little girl—Miss Lane—if he will. But I doubt if he will. I think his ambition is now more than anything to him, and that he will wish to marry a society woman, so that he can entertain and bring himself well to the front.”
There was a shade of bitterness in her tone as she spoke.