Ethie’s hands were tightly locked together now, and her teeth shut so tightly over her lips that the thin skin was broken, and a drop of blood showed upon the pale surface; but in so doing she kept back a cry of anguish which leaped up from her heart at Mrs. Dobson’s words.  The “first Mrs. Markham,” that was herself, while the “other Mrs. Markham” meant, of course, her rival—­the bride about whom she had heard at Clifton.  She did not think of Melinda as being a part of that household, “and the other Mrs. Markham,” for whom the new piano was to be purchased—­she thought of nothing but herself, and her own blighted hopes.

“Does the governor know for certain that his first wife is dead?” she asked, at last, and Mrs. Dobson replied: 

“He believes so, yes.  It’s five years since he heard a word.  Of course she’s dead.  She must have been a pretty creature.  Her picture is in the governor’s room.  Come, I will show it to you.”

Mrs. Dobson had left her glasses in the kitchen, so she did not notice the white, stony face, so startling in its expression, as her visitor followed her on up the broad staircase into the spacious hall above, and on still further, till they came to the door of Richard’s room, which Hannah had left open.  Then for a moment Ethelyn hesitated.  It seemed almost like a sacrilege for her feet to tread the floor of that private room, for her breath to taint the atmosphere of a spot where the new wife would come.  But Mrs. Dobson led her on until she stood in the center of Richard’s room, surrounded by the unmistakable paraphernalia of a man, with so many things around her to remind her of the past.  Surely, this was her own furniture; the very articles he had chosen for the room in Camden.  It was kind in Richard to keep and bring them here, where everything was so much more elegant—­kind, too, in him to redeem her piano.  It showed that for a time, at least, he had remembered her; but alas! he had forgotten her now, when she wanted his love so much.  There were great blurring tears in her eyes, and she could not distinctly see the picture on the walk which Mrs. Dobson said was the first Mrs. Markham, asking if she was not a beauty.

“Rather pretty, yes,” Ethie said, making a great effort to speak naturally, and adding after a moment:  “I suppose it will be taken down when the other Mrs. Markham comes.”

In Mrs. Dobson’s mind the other Mrs. Markham only meant Melinda, and she replied: 

“Why should it?  She knows it is here.  She knew the other lady and liked her, too.”

“She knew me?  Who can it be?” Ethie asked herself, remembering that the name she had heard at Clifton was a strange one to her.