After Miss Sullivan’s disappearance, her companions all talked of her, as people always do of the dear departed.
“Odd idea, that of hers—to go out in the wet,” observed Gyas. “How would you and I look, old Clo, taking a picturesque ducking?”
“Did anyone ever see you doing anything picturesque, Mr. Cutus?” inquired Miss Julia innocently.
“Pictures are done of him—lots of ’em by Scalper,” said Cloanthus. “Scalper says his name describes him exactly—he’s the best guy he can find. There—I wouldn’t have told that, Gyas, if you hadn’t called me old Clo. You know I don’t like nicknames.”
“I wonder Miss Sullivan never married,” remarked someone, to end this controversy.
“Miss Sullivan has not been rich very long,” said Mrs. Wilkes, in a tone to indicate that no further explanation was needed; “only since the death of her step-father. He had some property in Chicago which suddenly became of enormous value. He left everything to her. You know her own family were great people once, but lost caste and wealth by a transaction of her father’s. After that, she was obliged to teach in a public school for a while. Then she became governess to Clara Waddie and Diana, Mr. Waddie’s ward. When they went to Europe, she came to us.”
“Yes!” said Julia, with ardency. “I was an immense little fool, till then. But, mamma, wasn’t there a story of a love affair of hers, while she was young?”
“Horace Belden hinted something of the kind,” replied her mother, “and that he was the object. But he is very willing to claim conquests. As soon as the news of her great inheritance came, while she was with us in Paris, Mr. Belden called upon her. He pretended great surprise that she was our governess and regret that he had not seen his old friend before.”
“He knew it, I’m sure he did!” cried Julia. “Miss Sullivan and I met him twice in the Louvre, and both times he dodged—palpably. I could not understand why.”
“Well,” continued Mrs. Wilkes, serenely picking up her story where she had been interrupted, “with the news of the fortune came Mr. Belden. Miss Sullivan was in the salon with me. He went up to her with that soft manner which he thinks so irresistible. ‘My dear Miss Mary,’ he said, ‘I had no idea that you were here with my friends. Permit me to be among the first to congratulate you. It seems that the Fates do not always err in distributing their good gifts. How long it is since we have met! Where have you been this age?’ Mary received him rather icily; and afterwards she would never speak of him, except to say that they were neighbours in childhood. I suspect that it was merely his slights during her poverty that displeased her—I don’t believe she was ever in love with him.”