She kept asserting it as if in apology for her being there, and her voice trembled, and her whole air was one of such injured innocence that Mrs. Rider resolved within herself to stand by her in the face of all Rothsay, if necessary. Mrs. Rider was a very motherly little woman, and her heart went out at once to this girl, whose blue eyes and black dress appealed so strongly to her sympathies. She liked Everard, too, and did not mean to be disloyal to him, if she could help it, but she should stand by the wife; and she was so anxious to get away and talk up the wonderful news with her acquaintances that she forgot entirely the sirup she had brought for Rossie’s throat, and would have forgotten to inquire after Rossie herself if Aunt Axie had not accidentally put her head in the door and given vent to a grunt of surprise and disapprobation when she saw her in close conversation with Josephine, and, with her knowledge of the lady’s character for gossip, foresaw the result. “Oh, Miss Rider, is you here?” she said, advancing into the room; “and does Miss Markham know it? I’ll fotch her directly, ’cause Miss Ros’mon’s too sick to see yer.” “Never mind, Axie,” Mrs. Rider said, rising and beginning to adjust her waterproof. “I drove up to inquire after Rossie, and have spent more time than I intended talking with Mrs. Forrest,” and she nodded toward Josephine, who also arose and acknowledged the nod and name with a gracious bow. She saw the impression she had made on her visitor, who took her hand at parting, and said: “You will probably remain in Rothsay now, and I shall hope to see a great deal of you.” Again Josephine bowed assentingly to Mrs. Rider, who at last left the room, followed by Axie, whose face was like a thunder-cloud as she almost slammed the door in the lady’s face in her anxiety to be rid of her. CHAPTER XXXII. WHAT THE PEOPLE SAID AND DID. Before bed-time half the people in Rothsay knew of the marriage, and that Mrs. Dr. Rider had seen and talked with the lady, who was reported as very beautiful, and young, and stylish, and cultivated, and traveled, and a Bostonian, whose family had been on the most intimate terms with the Bigelows. She was also a friend of Bee Belknap, who had spent a summer with her, and probably knew of the marriage, which was a sort of escapade gotten up on the spur of the moment, and kept a secret at first because Everard was not through college, and feared his father’s displeasure. But why it was not made public after the judge’s death was a question which even the wise ones could not answer; and so the wonder and excitement increased.