The one who was "dear" was Mrs. Wise—the noblest and best of women.
Very soon I found that with all these pieces upon the board, a lively game might be expected. Miss Dick, whose brother was employed by the government, soon enlightened me: the rich New York girl wanted a title. She was "trying to catch" the baron, and would succeed, "as nobody else wanted either of them." Miss Vernon was dying for love of Dr. McNalty. She was going into a decline. Probably the doctor was ignorant of the state of things. Such a beautiful girl—a perfect lady! Somebody ought to speak to the doctor. She, (Miss Dick) couldn't. Nobody would listen to an old maid—"perhaps you, Mrs. Pryor"—("Oh, mercy, no")—well, then, poor girl! The French count was flirting with the wife of the government clerk. Her husband would find her out, never fear! There was danger of a hostile meeting before the winter was over. Then that hateful old Dr. Todkin, with his straw-colored wig! To be sure, she and some others liked the parlors kept dark—but what business had he to say he hoped some lady would come who "liked the light and could bear the light!" Such Dutch impertinence!
I received these confidences of Miss Dick in my own rooms, for I soon learned, with Mrs. Baird and Mrs. Heth, that the public drawing-room was no place for me.
"Gossip!" said they. "It has gone beyond gossip! The air is thick with something worse. You might cut it with a knife."
But it was not long before we had a ripple in our own calm waters. On one side of me at our round table sat Mr. George, the eccentric, small, intense Swiss naturalist, who amused me much by affecting to be a woman-hater.
"Not that they concern me," he said, "but,—well, I find fishes more interesting. I understand them better."
Beside my husband was placed our special pet, Maria Heth, taken under our wing in the absence of her parents, neither of whom ever appeared. The circle was completed by Professor and Mrs. Baird, little Lucy Baird, and Mr. Turner. In course of time my right-hand man fell into silence, broken by long-drawn sighs. I supposed he had lost a "specimen," or failed to find enough bones in some fish he was to classify, or maybe heard bad news from home, or belike had a toothache; so, after a few essays on my part to encourage him, I let him alone. Presently his place at the board was vacant. Things went on in this way until one morning, early, Maria Heth knocked at my door.
"I am troubled about Mr. George," she said. "I am sorry to worry you, but I'm afraid there's no help for it. Mamma is too nervous to hear unpleasant things, and I'm afraid of exciting papa."
"Come to the point, Maria! Mr. George, you say! Well, then, what about Mr. George?"
"Well, you know he's been missing nearly a week. It was no business of mine. I had no dream I had anything to do with it. But see what he has written me! 'This comes to you from a broken-hearted man. Forget him! You will meet him no more on earth. Perhaps—yonder! George.'"