“Who was that lady and gentleman with whom I saw you to-day at the Redwood Library?” he asked of Editha that evening.
“A Mrs. Sylvester and her brother,” she replied.
“Mrs. Sylvester!” repeated Mr. Dalton, with a slight emphasis on the title.
“Mr. Tressalia introduced her as Madam Sylvester. Do you know anything about her?” she asked, looking up in surprise.
“Ah! Mr. Tressalia knows her, then? Where is she from?” he returned, thoughtfully, and not heeding her question.
“From Paris, France; they are French people, and extremely agreeable.”
Mr. Dalton’s face lost something of its habitual glow at this information, and he appeared ill at ease.
“Um! strangers, then, here. Does Tressalia know them intimately?” and he shot a searching, anxious glance at his daughter.
“Yes; he was telling me something of madam’s history a day or two ago.”
“What! have they been here any length of time?” interrupted Mr. Dalton, with a frown.