Wandering across the campus, under the stately arches of the college elms, she finally reached the open country, and, realizing that even the wings of happiness are mortal, she turned homeward, choosing the avenue that led past French’s place. Perhaps she hoped for reassuring signs of his coming—doors and windows thrown open and gardeners at work upon the ground—but before she got beyond the high hedge that cut off her view, a carriage, which she recognized as Stephen’s, drove rapidly toward the gate, and in it sat a lady, stately and grand, but so closely veiled as to defy both sun and curiosity. At a sign from her the carriage stopped, and a voice exclaimed:
“I have just been to see you, Mrs. Ponsonby, and was so much disappointed to find you out—and so was some one else, I fancy, who I am sure has been at your house this morning! Pray get in and drive home with me. And I will send you back to town after you have paid me a little visit.”
Deena had by this time recognized Mrs. Star, and recovered sufficiently from her surprise to take the offered seat in the carriage, but she was in such a tumult of hope and fear she hardly dared trust herself to do more than greet her old friend. Mrs. Star understood quite well, and gave her time to recover her wits by a characteristic harangue.
“How am I?” she repeated, sardonically. “Lame for life! I have never got over McTorture’s treatment, and never shall. Oh, no, it was not the original accident—that was an innocent affair—it is the result of McTorture’s nonsense in keeping me chained to my sofa in one position till my leg stiffened. But never mind about doctors; they’re all alike—bad’s the best! You look handsome and healthy enough to keep out of their clutches; tell me all about yourself.”
“There is never anything to tell about me,” said Deena. “I am much more concerned to know why you are here.”
Mrs. Star’s eyes softened.
“Because Stephen wouldn’t stop long enough in New York for me to exchange ten words with him, and so I did the next best thing—indeed, the only thing I could do to satisfy my affection—I came with him; and upon my word, I do not think he wanted me! Now, how do you account for that, Mrs. Deena?”
Her expression was so insinuating that Deena might be excused a slight irritation in her tone as she answered:
“I don’t account for it.”
Here they reached the front door, for the approach was a short one, and Mrs. Star got out laboriously and ushered her guest into the hall.