“She declines to marry again,” said Mrs. Larramie, now taking up the conversation.  “Of course, such a pretty woman—­I may say, such a charming woman—­would have admirers, and I know that she has had some most excellent offers, but she has always refused to consider any of them.  There was one gentleman, a man of wealth and position, who had proposed to her before she married Mr. Chester, who came on here to offer himself again, but she cut off everything he had to say by telling him that as she did not positively know that her husband was not living, she could not allow a word of that sort to be said to her.  I know this, because she told me so herself.”

There was a good deal more talk of the sort, and of course it interested me greatly, although I tried not to show it, but I could not help wondering why the subject had been brought forward in such an impressive manner upon the present occasion.  It seemed to me that there was something personal in it—­personal to me.  Had that boy Percy been making reports?

In the evening I found out all about it, and in a very straightforward and direct fashion.  I discovered Miss Edith by herself, and asked her if all that talk about Mrs. Chester had been intended for my benefit, and, if so, why.

She laughed.  “I expected you to come and ask me about that,” she said, “for of course you could see through a good deal of it.  It is all father’s kindness and goodness.  Percy was a little out of temper when he came back, and he spun a yarn about your being sweet on Mrs. Chester, and how he could hardly get you away from her, and all that.  He had an idea that you wanted to go there and live, at least for the summer.  Something a boy said to him made him think that.  So father thought that if you had any notions about Mrs. Chester you ought to have the matter placed properly before you without any delay, and I expect his reason for mentioning it at the supper-table was that it might then seem like a general subject of conversation, whereas it would have been very pointed indeed if he had taken you apart and talked to you about it.”

“Indeed it would,” said I.  “And if you will allow me, I will say that boys are unmitigated nuisances!  If they are not hearing what they ought not to hear, they are imagining what they ought not to imagine—­”

“And telling things that they ought not to tell,” she added, with a laugh.

“Which is an extremely bad thing,” said I, “when there is nothing to tell.”

For the rest of that evening I was more lively than is my wont, for it was a very easy thing to be lively in that family.  I do not think I gave any one reason to suppose that I was a man whose attention had been called to a notice not to trespass.

As usual, I communed with myself before going to bed.  Wherefore this feeling of disappointment?  What did it mean?  Would I have said anything of importance, of moment, to Mrs. Chester, if the boy Percy had given me an opportunity?  What would I have said?  What could I have said?  I could see that she did not wish that I should say anything, and now I knew the reason for it.  It was all plain enough on her side.  Even if she had allowed herself any sort of emotion regarding me, she did not wish me to indulge in anything of the land.  But as for myself.  I could decide nothing about myself.