FREDERIK. [_In a low voice._] Where's Catherine?

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. [_Taking up her fancy work, seating herself._] Upstairs.

FREDERIK. With that sick child? Tc!

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. Catherine finds it a pleasure to sit beside the little
fellow. William is very much better.

FREDERIK. [_Taking a telegram from his pocket-book._] Well, we shall soon
be off to Europe. I've just had a telegram to say a cabin has been
reserved for me on the _Imperator_. To-morrow, thank God, we shall take
the afternoon train to New York.

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. I must confess that I'm very glad. Of course, I'm happy
to stay and chaperone Catherine; but poor Mr. Batholommey has been alone
at the parsonage for ten days ... ever since your dear uncle ... [_Pauses,
unwinding yarn, then unburdening her mind._] I didn't think at first that
Catherine could persuade herself to marry you.

FREDERIK. [_Sharply._] I don't understand you, Mrs. Batholommey.

MRS. BATHOLOMMEY. I mean she seemed so averse to--to an immediate
marriage; but of course it was your uncle's last request, and that
influenced her more than anything else. So it's to be a June wedding,
after all; he has his wish. You'll be married in ten days from the time he
left us. [_Remembering._] Some more letters marked personal came for him
while you were out. I put them in the drawer--[_Points to desk._] with
the rest. It seems odd to think the postman brings your uncle's letters