“It means that when Miss Douglas went away from us she left a box containing some valuables with papa for safe keeping,” was the glib reply.
She had been expecting some such question, and had the answer all ready.
“But I thought she was dismissed.”
“So she was. She did not behave with propriety, and mamma would not keep her longer. Papa did not like it very well, for he was bewitched with her pretty face, and they were good friends, so she left the box with him until she should be settled somewhere else. You know what happened after that, and we have never had an opportunity to return her property, which papa left in our keeping, until now.”
“What did she do that was so very improper while she was with you?” he asked. “I have never heard.”
“Really, Charles,” Isabel replied, flushing and pouting in a grieved way, “I do not like to enter into particulars quite so minutely; but if you must know, why, you must, I suppose. One day mamma and I were out on a shopping expedition, when we were obliged to return much earlier than we expected to. On entering the library, we found Miss Douglas lying in Wilbur’s arms, with apparently as much composure as if she were reclining upon a couch.”
“Is that so!” exclaimed Sir Charles, much shocked. “She does not seem like such a person at all.”
“Oh, no; and when mamma talked with her about it, she put on that haughty, queenly air which you noticed the other evening in London, and again this morning, and would listen to nothing.”
“But did your father uphold her in this?” Sir Charles asked her, gravely.
“Oh, no, indeed; but she had so bewitched Wilbur that he took all the blame upon himself, and told papa something so that he excused it, and she made him think she was the injured one, after all.”