Mr. Rosevelt merely nodded his head in reply, while he watched the door with evident impatience.
It was soon slowly opened, and a familiar face appeared in the aperture—a face all beaming with smiles of pleasure and good nature.
“Mrs. Blunt!” cried Star, in astonishment; and springing toward the woman, she grasped both her hands warmly.
“Yes, Miss Star,” the woman returned, half laughing, half crying; “I am Mrs. Blunt, or I’m much mistaken, as I sometimes imagine I may be when I get to thinking about everything, and how strange it has all turned out. How well you’re looking, miss, and it does my old eyes a wonderful sight of good to see your bright face again.”
Star thought her language somewhat ambiguous; but everything seemed rather ambiguous just then.
“Do you live here?” she questioned.
“Yes, I live here; or——”
“Have you been in New York long? and why haven’t we seen you before? and what are you laughing at?”
The young girl’s astonishment seemed to increase, for the woman appeared strangely, and was shaking with suppressed laughter.
“I’m laughing because I’m so glad to see you. I’ve been in New York a month, and haven’t been to see you because the last time I saw Mr. Rosevelt he told me he was going to bring you to see me soon; so I’ve been content to wait,” Mrs. Blunt explained.