“Her father never forgave Mary.  Seven months later he died, and after settling up affairs there was nothing left.  Alden House was mortgaged to the limit.  There were a number of small debts as well as two or three large ones, and when these were paid and all accounts squared there was barely enough left for Parke to buy his railroad ticket to some city out West, where he had secured a place as resident physician in a hospital.  That was thirteen years ago.”  She took a deep breath, as if thinking.  “Thirteen years.  Since then we’ve known little about him.  You say he is a famous surgeon?  We’ve never heard it in Yorkburg.”

“Of course you haven’t.  Yorkburg has heard nothing since 1865.  But there are a good many things it could hear.”  And Mrs. Grey laughed, but with her forehead wrinkled, as if she were trying to understand something that was puzzling her.

And then it was Mrs. Moon said something that made understanding come rolling right in on me.  The answer to that look on Miss Katherine’s face the night of the Reagans’ ball was as plain as Jimmie Jenkins’s nose, which is most all you see when you see Jimmie.  It was like I thought.  It was a man.

“Ophelia,” said Mrs. Moon, and she moved her chair closer to Mrs. Grey, and leaned forward with her hands clasped, “did you ever hear Doctor Alden speak of a Miss Trent—­Miss Katherine Trent?”

“No.  You mean—­”

“Yes; she’s the one.  Parke Alden and Katherine Trent were sweethearts from children.  Shortly after Mary’s marriage something happened.  There was a misunderstanding of some kind, and they barely bowed when they met.  Everybody was sorry, for it was one of the matches Heaven might have made without discredit.  Soon after Parke went away, Katherine went off to some school just outside of Philadelphia, and, so far as is known, they’ve never seen each other since.”

Mrs. Grey brought both hands down on her knees.  “I knew it was something like that.  I knew it!  Doctor Alden is just that sort of a man.  And it’s Katherine Trent?  I wish I’d known it before she went away.”

“What would you have done?” Mrs. Moon looked frightened.  She’s very timid, Mrs. Moon is, and always afraid of telling something she oughtn’t.  “What could you have done?”

“Looked at her better.  She’s certainly good to look at.  Not beautiful, but a face you never forget.  And Doctor Alden is the kind that never forgets.  But tell me something about the child.  How did she get here?”

“Her nurse brought her.  Her father kept her after her mother’s death, taking her about from place to place with this old negro mammy until she was three, when he died suddenly, strange to say, in the same place his wife died, Mobile, Alabama.”

“Why did the nurse bring her here?  Was she a Yorkburg darkey?”

“No; but she had heard Mr. Cary say there was an Orphan Asylum here, and not knowing what else to do, she came on with her.  She told the Board ladies she had heard the child’s father say a hundred times he would rather see her dead than have her mother’s family take her.  And she begged them not to let it be known who she was until she was old enough to understand.”