"You never knew the family," a lady caller said to her one
morning, when at a rather late hour she sat languidly sipping her
rich chocolate, and daintily picking at the snowy rolls and nicely
buttered toast, "you never knew them or you would cease to wonder
why the village people take so much interest in their movements,
and are so glad to have them back."
"I have heard their story," returned Mrs. Atherton, "and I have no
doubt the son is a very fine specimen of an old bachelor; thirty-
five, isn't he, or thereabouts?"
"Thirty-five!" and Kitty Maynard raised her hands in dismay. "My
dear Mrs. Atherton, he's hardly thirty yet, and those who have
seen him since his return from Europe, pronounce him a splendid
looking man, with an air of remarkably high breeding. I wonder if
there IS any truth in the report that he is to bring with him a
bride."
"A bride, Kitty!" and the massive silver fork dropped from Grace
Atherton's hand.
SHE was interested now, and nervously pulling the gathers of her
white morning gown, she listened while the loquacious Kitty told
her what she knew of the imaginary wife of Richard Harrington.
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