She appeared to be very much elated over the marriage, spoke eloquently of the bride-elect, of her grace, beauty, and intelligence; for she was far too proud to allow it to be known that she had been taken as much by surprise as society at large by the announcement of the event.
To Mrs. Farnum alone she acknowledged it; for that lady called the next day, and had asked her point-blank some questions which she could not answer, and she had been obliged to confess that she “did not know.”
“Well, Miriam,” said her friend, “it is rather hard on you, I own, not to be consulted, or even asked to the wedding, but your heart will be set at rest on one subject—you need not fear that Alexander woman any more after the twenty-first.”
“No; she may do her worst then. I have lived in daily terror lest she should meet William and everything would be explained. What do you think, Myra?” asked Lady Linton, suddenly. “She has got that diary!”
“What diary?”
“That one I gave to you to keep for me, the summer I was on the Continent—the diary you lost!”
“Miriam Linton! how came she by it?” cried Mrs. Farnum, aghast.
“She says her uncle was in the railway carriage with you when you left London that afternoon after I had met you at the —— Hotel, and you dropped it in the coach.”
“Well, I am at least glad to know how I lost it,” returned her friend, in a relieved tone. “It has been a most annoying mystery to me all these years. Does she know what there is in it?”
“I do not know,” Lady Linton said, growing pale. “I met her yesterday on Oxford street, when she told me she had it, and would return it soon. If she has not opened the package, I am all right; if she has, and ever sees fit to betray me to Sir William, it will be a sad day for me.”