Mr. Prince smiled so sweetly, and apparently so sympathetically, that Carry began to like him.  With no other notice of the interruption he went on, “After your stepmother had performed this act of simple justice, she entered into an agreement with your mother to defray the expenses of your education until your eighteenth year, when you were to elect and choose which of the two should thereafter be your guardian, and with whom you would make your home.  This agreement, I think, you are already aware of, and, I believe, knew at the time.”

“I was a mere child then,” said Carry.

“Certainly,” said Mr. Prince, with the same smile.  “Still the conditions, I think, have never been oppressive to you nor your mother; and the only time they are likely to give you the least uneasiness will be when you come to make up your mind in the choice of your guardian.  That will be on your eighteenth birthday—­the twentieth, I think, of the present month.”

Carry was silent.

“Pray do not think that I am here to receive your decision, even if it be already made.  I only came to inform you that your stepmother, Mrs. Starbottle, will be in town tomorrow, and will pass a few days at the hotel.  If it is your wish to see her before you make up your mind, she will be glad to meet you.  She does not, however, wish to do anything to influence your judgment.

“Does Mother know she is coming?” said Carry hastily.

“I do not know,” said Prince gravely.  “I only know that if you conclude to see Mrs. Starbottle, it will be with your mother’s permission.  Mrs. Starbottle will keep sacredly this part of the agreement, made ten years ago.  But her health is very poor; and the change and country quiet of a few days may benefit her.”  Mr. Prince bent his keen, bright eyes upon the young girl, and almost held his breath until she spoke again.

“Mother’s coming up today or tomorrow,” she said, looking up.

“Ah!” said Mr. Prince with a sweet and languid smile.

“Is Colonel Starbottle here too?” asked Carry, after a pause.

“Colonel Starbottle is dead.  Your stepmother is again a widow.”

“Dead!” repeated Carry.

“Yes,” replied Mr. Prince.  “Your stepmother has been singularly unfortunate in surviving her affections.”

Carry did not know what he meant, and looked so.  Mr. Prince smiled reassuringly.

Presently Carry began to whimper.

Mr. Prince softly stepped beside her chair.

“I am afraid,” he said with a very peculiar light in his eye, and a singular dropping of the corners of his mustache—­“I am afraid you are taking this too deeply.  It will be some days before you are called upon to make a decision.  Let us talk of something else.  I hope you caught no cold last evening.”

Carry’s face shone out again in dimples.

“You must have thought us so queer!  It was too bad to give you so much trouble.”