he found that his mistress was under accusal of having trifled with the affections of an unhappy young man, the only son of one of the ladies. There was apparently no lack of evidence or of facts which might be construed as evidence. Baxter went home, la mort dans l'âme, and on the following day called again on Mrs. Denbigh. Marian was still in her room, but the former lady received him. Stephen was in great trouble, but his mind was lucid, and he addressed himself to the task of interrogating his hostess. Mrs. Denbigh, with her habitual indolence, had remained unsuspicious of the terms on which the young people stood.
"I'm sorry to say," Baxter began, "that I heard Miss Everett accused last evening of very sad conduct."
"Ah, for heaven's sake, Stephen," returned his kinswoman, "don't go back to that. I've done nothing all Winter but defend and palliate her conduct. It's hard work. Don't make me do it for you. You know her as well as I do. She was indiscreet, but I know she is penitent, and for that matter she's well out of it. He was by no means a desirable young man."
"The lady whom I heard talking about the matter," said Stephen, "spoke of him in the highest terms. To be sure, as it turned out, she was his mother."
"His mother? You're mistaken. His mother died ten years ago."
Baxter folded his arms with a feeling that he needed to sit firm, "Allons," said he, "of whom do you speak?"
"Of young Mr. King."
"Good heavens," cried Stephen. "So there are two of them?"
"Pray, of whom do you speak? "
"Of a certain Mr. Young. The mother is a handsome old woman with white curls."
"You don't mean to say there has been anything between Marian and Frederic Young?"
"Voilà! I only repeat what I hear. It seems to me, my dear Mrs. Denbigh, that you ought to know."
Mrs. Denbigh shook her head with a melancholy movement. "I'm sure I don't," she said. "I give it up. I don't pretend to judge. The manners of young people to each other are very different from what they were in my day. One doesn't know whether they mean nothing or everything."
"You know, at least, whether Mr. Young has been in your drawing-room?"
"Oh, yes, frequently. I'm very sorry that Marian is talked about. It's very unpleasant for me. But what can a sick woman do?"
"Well," said Stephen, "so much for Mr. Young. And now for Mr. King."
"Mr. King is gone home. It's a pity he ever came away."
