And Josephine received them with a modesty of demeanor which won their sympathy, if not their hearts, at once. Not the slightest allusion did they make to her husband, but she spoke of him herself, naturally and easily. She had hoped to find him at home when she came and have him present her to his friends, but unexpected business had called him away, she believed. However, he would soon return, as Miss Hastings had telegraphed for him, and then she should not feel so much alone. How very gentle and gracious she was, answering all questions with great modesty, and without seeming to volunteer any direct remarks, adroitly managing to drop a good many scraps of information with regard to herself and her past life, all of course highly advantageous to herself. Of Everard she said very little, but when she did speak of him it was always as “My husband, Mr. Forrest.” She should certainly expect him on the morrow, she said, and then she should not feel so much like a stranger, possibly an impostor, and she laughed a little musical laugh, and her blue eyes sparkled so brightly and her lips curled so prettily that every heart was won, and the whole bevy of ladies followed her to the carriage telling her they should call and see her very soon, stood watching her as she drove away, and talked together of her and her recreant husband, in whom there must be something wrong, or he would long ago have acknowledged this peerless woman as his wife. And so the talk increased and every conceivable story was set afloat, and poor Everard stood at rather a low ebb in public opinion, when the six o’clock train came in the next day and left him standing upon the platform, bewildered and confounded with the words which greeted him as he left the car, and which gave him the first intimation of what he was to expect. The editor of the Rothsay _Star_ was standing there, and hitting Everard upon the shoulder, exclaimed: “Hallo, Forrest. A nice trick you’ve been playing upon us,—married all this time, and not let us know.” “Married! What do you mean?” And Everard turned white to his lips, while his friend replied: “What do I mean? Why, I mean that your wife is up at Forrest House, and thunder to pay generally.” CHAPTER XXXIII. EVERARD FACES IT.