delighted to
show how very close and intimate was the relationship between themselves
and their new and beautiful niece, of whom in their secret hearts they
were prouder than they would have cared to tell. In their best black silks
and their fine lace shawls they walked beside her and talked almost
eagerly, if those two stately beings could have anything to do with a
quality so frivolous as eagerness. They wished it understood that David's
wife was worthy of appreciation and they were more conscious than she of
the many glances of admiration in her direction.

Hannah Heath encountered some of those admiring glances and saw jealously
for whom they were meant. She hastened to lean forward and greet Marcia,
her spiteful tongue all ready for a stab.

"Good morning, Mrs. Spafford. Is that husband of yours not home yet?
Really! Why, he's quite deserted you. I call that hard for the first year,
and your honeymoon scarcely over yet."

"He's been called back to New York again," said Marcia annoyed over the
spiteful little sentences. "He says he may be at home soon, but he cannot
be sure. His business is rather uncertain."

"New York!" said Hannah, and her voice was annoyingly loud. "What! Not
again! There must be some great attraction there," and then with a meaning
glance, "I suppose your sister is still there!"

Marcia felt her face crimsoning, and the tears starting from angry eyes.
She felt a sudden impulse to slap Hannah. What if she should! What would
the aunts say? The thought of the tumult she might make roused her sense
of humor and a laugh bubbled up instead of the tears, and Hannah,
watching, cat-like, could only see eyes dancing with fun though the cheeks
were charmingly red. By Hannah's expression Marcia knew she was baffled,
but Marcia could not get away from the disagreeable suggestion that had
been made.

Yes, David was in New York, and Kate was there. Not for an instant did she
doubt her husband's nobleness. She knew David would be good and true. She
knew little of the world's wickedness, and never thought of any blame, as
other women might, in such a suggestion. But a great jealousy sprang into
being that she never dreamed existed. Kate was there, and he would perhaps
see her, and all his old love and disappointment would be brought to mind
again. Had she, Marcia, been hoping he would forget it? Had she been
claiming something of him in her heart for herself? She could not tell.
She did not know what all