made her anxious to know what sort of a woman I was.

But my faculty for observation was very wide-awake that morning, and
I may have imagined this, especially as she did not look at me again
till she had finished her breakfast and rose to quit the room. Then,
indeed, she threw me a hurried glance, half searching, half doubtful
in its character, as if she hesitated whether she ought to leave us
alone together. Instantly a wild thrill passed through me, and I
came perilously near blushing. But the momentary emotion, if emotion
it could be called, was soon lost in the deeper feeling which ensued
when Mrs. Harrington, pausing at the door, observed, with a forced
lightness:

"By-the-way, where is Mr. Barrows? I thought he was always on hand
in time of trouble."

I looked at her; somehow, I dared not look at her brother; and,
while making to myself such trivial observations as, "She has not
been told the truth," and, "They took good care she should overhear
no gossip at the station," I was inwardly agitating myself with the
new thought, "Can _she_ have had any thing to do with Mr.
Barrows? Can she be the woman he was engaged to before he fell in
love with Ada?"

The expression of her face, turned though

It was full upon us, told nothing, and my attention, though not my
glances, passed to Mr. Pollard, who, motionless in his place,
hesitated what reply to give to this simple question.