"Do you?" said Edith, still laughing. "My dear lackadaisical Trixy! I must confess myself, I prefer 'jolly' people. Still you're not altogether wrong about our youthful baronet, he _does_ look a prey at times to green and yellow melancholy. You don't suppose he has been crossed in love, do you? Are baronets--rich baronets--ever crossed in love I wonder. His large, rather light blue eyes, look at one sometimes as though to say:

"'I have a secret sorrow here, A grief I'll ne'er impart, It heaves no sigh, it sheds no tear, But it consumes the 'art!'"

Miss Darrell was an actress by nature--she repeated this lachrymose verse, in a sepulchral tone of voice.

"That's it, you may depend, Trixy. The poor young gentleman's a prey to unrequited affection. What are you shaking your head so vehemently at?"

"It isn't that," said Trix, looking solemn and mysterious, "it's worse!"

"Worse! Dear me. I didn't think anything could be worse. What is it then?"

"_Murder_!"

It was Trixy's turn to be sepulchral. Miss Darrell opened her big brown eyes. Miss Stuart's charnel-house tone was really blood curdling.

"My dearest Trix! Murder! Good gracious, you can't mean to say we've been dancing all night with a murderer? Who has he killed?"

"Edith, don't be an idiot! Did I say he killed any one? No, it isn't that--it's a murder that was committed when he was a baby."

"When he was a baby!" Miss Darrell repeats, in dense bewilderment.

"Yes, his mother was murdered, poor thing. It was a most shocking affair, and as interesting as any novel you ever read," said Trixy, with the greatest relish. "Murdered in cold blood as she slept, and they don't know to this day who did it."

Edith's eyes were still very wide open.

"His mother--when he was a baby! Tell us about it, Trix. One naturally takes an interest in the family murders of one's future second cousin-in-law."

"Well," began Miss Stuart, still with the utmost relish, "you see his father--another Sir Victor--made a low marriage--married the daughter of a common sort of person, in trade. Now there's a coincidence to begin with. _I'm_ the daughter of a common sort of person in trade--at least I was!"

"It is to be hoped the coincidence will not be followed out after the nuptial knot," answered Edith, gravely, "it would be unpleasant for you to be murdered, Trix, and plunge us all into the depth of despair and bombazine. Proceed, as they say on the stage, 'Your tale interests me.'"

"He was engaged--the other Sir Victor, I mean--to his cousin, a Miss Inez Catheron--pretty name, isn't it?--and, it seems, was afraid of her. She was a brunette, dark and fierce, with black eyes and a temper to match."

A bow of acknowledgment from Miss Darrell.

"As it turned out, he had good reason to be afraid of her. He was a year and a half married, and the baby--this present Sir Victor--was two or three months old, when the marriage was made public, and wife and child brought home. There must have been an awful row, you know, at Catheron Royals, and one evening, about a month after her arrival, they found the poor thing asleep in the nursery, and stabbed to the heart."

"Was she asleep after she was stabbed or before?"

"Bother. There was an inquest, and it turned out that she and Miss Catheron had had a tremendous quarrel, that very evening: Sir Victor was away when it happened, and he just went stark, staring mad the first thing, when he heard it. Miss Catheron was arrested on suspicion.

Then it appeared that she had a brother, and that this brother was an awful scamp, and that he claimed to have been married to Lady Catheron before she married Sir Victor, and that _he_ had had a row with her, that same day too. It was a dreadfully mixed up affair--all that seemed clear, was that Lady Catheron had been murdered by somebody, and that Juan--yes, Juan Catheron--had run away, and when wanted, was not to be found."

"It appears to have been a strictly family affair from first to last--that, at least, was a consolation. What did they do to Miss Inez Catheron?"

"Put her in prison to stand her trial for murder. She never stood it, however--she made her escape, and never was heard of, from that day to this. Isn't it tragical, and isn't it dreadful for Sir Victor--his mother murdered, his father crazy, or dead, ages ago for what I know, and his relations tried for their lives?"

"Poor Sir Victor! Dreadful indeed. But where in the world, Trixy, did _you_ find all this out? Has he been pouring the family history so soon into your sympathetic ear?"

"Of course not; that's the curious part of the story. You know Mrs.

Featherbrain?"

"I'm happy to say," retorted Miss Darrell, "I know very little about her, and intend to know less."

"You do know her, however. Well, Mrs. Featherbrain has a father."

"Poor old gentleman!" says Miss Darrell, compa.s.sionately.

"Old Hampson--that's his name. Hampson is an Englishman, and from Cheshire, and knew the present Sir Victor's grandfather. He gets the Cheshire papers ever since he left, and, of course, took an interest in all this. He told Mrs. Featherbrain--and what do you think?--Mrs.

Featherbrain actually asked Lady Helena."

"It is precisely the sort of thing Mrs. Featherbrain would be likely to do. 'Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.' How copious are my quotations this afternoon. What did Lady Helena say?"

"Gave her a look--a lady who was present told me--such a look. She turned dead white for a minute, then she spoke: 'I never discuss family matters with perfect strangers.' Those were her words--'_perfect strangers_.' 'I consider your question impertinent, madame, and decline to answer it.' Then she turned her back upon Mrs. Featherbrain; and shouldn't I like to have seen Mrs. Featherbrain's face. Since then, she just bows frigidly to her, no more."

"Little imbecile! Trixy, I should like to see those papers."

"So you can--I have them. Charley got them from Laura Featherbrain.

What could _not_ Charley get from Laura Featherbrain I wonder?" adds Trix, sarcastically.

Edith's color rose, her eyes fell on the tatting between her fingers.

"Your brother and the lady are old lovers then? So I inferred from her conversation last night."

"I don't know about their being lovers exactly. Charley has that ridiculous flirting manner, young men think it their duty to cultivate, and it certainly _was_ a strong case of spoons--excuse the slang. Pa would never have listened to it, though--_he_ wants birth and blood too, and old Hampson's a pork merchant. Then Phineas Featherbrain came along, sixty years of age, and a petroleum prince. Of course, there was a gorgeous wedding--New York rang with it. I don't see that the marriage makes much difference in Charley and Laura's flirtation, though. Just wait a minute and I'll go and get the papers--I haven't read it all myself."

Miss Stuart swept, stately and tall, from the room, returning in a few moments with some half-dozen old, yellow newspapers.

"Here you are, sir," she cries, in shrill newsboy singsong; "the full, true and particular account of the tragedy at Catheron Royals. Sounds like the t.i.tle of a sensation novel, doesn't it? Here's No. 1 for you--I've got on as far as No. 4."

Miss Darrell throws aside her work and becomes absorbed in the _Chesholm Courier_ of twenty-three years back. Silence fell--the moments wore on--the girls become intensely interested, _so_ interested that when the door was thrown open and "Sir Victor Catheron" announced, both sprang to their feet, conscience-stricken with all their guilt, red in their faces.

He advanced, hat in hand, a smile on his face. He was beside Trix first. She stood, the paper still clutched in her hand, her cheeks redder than the crimson velvet carpet. His astonished eyes fell upon it--he who ran might read--the _Chesholm Courier_ in big, black letters, and in staring capitals, the "TRADGEDY OF CATHERON ROYALS."

The smile faded from Sir Victor Catheron's lips, the faint color, walking in the chill wind had brought, died out of his face. He turned of that dead waxen whiteness, fair people do turn--then he lifted his eyes and looked Miss Stuart full in the face.

"May I ask where you got this paper?" he asked, very quietly.

"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry!" burst out Trixy. "I'm awfully sorry, but I--I didn't know--I mean, I didn't mean--oh, Sir Victor, forgive me if I have hurt your feelings. I never meant _you_ to see this."

"I am sure of that," he said, gently; "it is necessarily very painful to me. Permit me to ask again, how you chanced to come by these papers?"

"They were lent us by--by a lady here; her father is from Cheshire, and always gets the papers. Indeed I am very, very sorry. I wouldn't have had it happen for worlds."

"There is no need to apologize--you are in no way to blame. I trust I find you and Miss Darrell entirely recovered from the fatigue of last night. The most charming party of the season--that is the unanimous verdict, and I for one indorse it."

He took a seat, the color slowly returning to his face. As he spoke, two eyes met his, dark, sweet, compa.s.sionate, but Edith Darrell did not speak a word.

The obnoxious papers were swept out of sight--Miss Stuart made desperate efforts at ease of manner, and morning call chit-chat, but every effort fell flat. The spell of the _Chesholm Courier_ was on them all, and was not to be shaken off. It was a relief when the baronet rose to go.