She won the smiles back to her lips, drove the lines of care and trouble from her brow, and once, as she related some droll incident that had occurred on the steamer in which she came over, made her laugh aloud—the old-timed, clear, sweet laugh, that made Paul’s heart thrill with delight.
“Miss Dalton, I am coming to see you. I am a dear lover of young people,” she said, as they began to talk of going.
“Do; I shall be delighted,” Editha said, with a sudden lighting of her sad eyes.
“I am a stranger here in Newport, never having been in this country before,” madam continued. “I wish you and Mr. Tressalia would take pity upon me, and give me the benefit of your familiarity with the objects of interest here.”
Editha unhesitatingly promised, not even suspecting that this request was made more for her own sake than for the beautiful stranger’s; and then they all left the library together.
As they were about entering their carriage, Mr. Dalton drove by in his sporting sulky.
He bowed to Editha, and then bestowed a passing glance upon her new acquaintances.
That glance made him start and bestow a more searching look upon Madam Sylvester; then he grew a sudden and deep crimson, while a look of great anxiety settled on his face.
He turned and looked back again after he had driven by.
“There can be but one face like that in the world. I must look into this,” he muttered, uneasily.