“Never,” was Mrs. Penford’s emphatic acquiescence.
“And such repose of manner,” went on Mrs. Barentham.
“Are you sure about that heiress part of it?” inquired Mrs. Barnes earnestly. “You know how often these rumors get out without one particle of foundation.”
“Oh, that is perfectly trustworthy, my dear,” rejoined the general’s wife. “The Bellman estate in New York is one of the best known of the vested interests in the metropolis.”
“With whom is she here?” Mrs. Barnes now wanted to know.
“With her uncle’s family, the Grants; very distinguished people, too. The McBrintons know them, so I suppose we shall all be presented tomorrow.”
It was very seldom that Camilla Barnes’s conscience troubled her, and on this particular night it was not that which kept her awake long after she had sought rest. The single instance of Radnor’s manifestation of interest in the girls of the Lorimac, the exalted position financially occupied by Olive Bellman, the coincidence of their having come up on the same train—these three facts combined kept Camilla’s brain in busy ferment for many hours.
“But I must be cautious,” she kept reminding herself. “I must make haste very slowly. I wonder how long they are going to stay—how much time they will give me?”
She was introduced to the Grants the next morning by Miss McBrinton, while the ladies were all gathered with their fancy work in a shady corner of the piazza. Olive was included in the presentation, but she seemed scarcely to heed the ceremony.
She had no work in her lap, but sat there with one hand on the railing of the piazza, while her eyes were fixed most of the time on the hills across the lake.