The good lady sat in her chamber wiping the perspiration from her ruddy face, and occasionally peering out into the pleasant street, with a longing desire to escape from her self-imposed prison, and breathe the air again in her accustomed walks. But this she dared not do, lest it should be discovered that she was not away from home and enjoying some little pent-up room in the third story of a crowded hotel. Occasionally, too, she thought with a sigh of the clover fields, the fresh, green grass and shadowy woods, where Jessie was really enjoying herself, without the trouble of dressing three times a day, and then swelling with vexation because some one else out-did her. "If she don’t come with William, I mean to go down there and see what this family are like that she makes such a fuss about," she said. "Marshall? Marshall? The name sounds familiar, but it isn’t likely I ever knew them. If I supposed I had, I wouldn’t stir a step." At this point in her soliloquy a servant appeared, saying "Mr. Bellenger wished to see her," and putting in her teeth, for it tired her to wear them all the time, and adjusting her lace cap, the old lady went down to meet the young man, who had just returned from Deerwood. Numberless were the questions she asked concerning her granddaughter. Was she well? was she happy? was she sun-burned? were her hands scratched with briers? and what kind of people were these Marshalls? To this last William hastened to reply: "Clever country people, very kind to Jessie, and well they may be, for if I’ve the least discernment, they hope to have her in their family one of these days." "What can you mean?" and the old lady’s salts were brought into frequent use, while William, in his peculiar way, told her of Walter Marshall, who he said "was undoubtedly presuming enough to aspire to Jessie’s hand." "What, that boy that Richard educated?" Mrs. Bartow asked, growing very red and very warm withal. "Yes," returned William; "but the fact of his being a charity student is not the worst feature in the case. It pains me greatly to talk upon the subject, but duty requires me to tell you just who Walter is," and assuming a half-reluctant, half-mortified tone, Will told Mrs. Bartow how Walter was connected with himself and the "terrible disgrace" of which she had written to Jessie in her last letter. For a moment the old lady fancied herself choking to death, but she managed at last to scream: "You don’t say that he has dared to think of Jessie, the daughter of a millionaire, and the granddaughter of a——" She was too much overcome to finish the sentence, and she sank back in her chair, while her cap-strings floated up and down with the rapid motion of her fan. "I’ll go for her at once," she said, when at last she found her voice. "I’ll see this Mr. Impudence for myself. I’ll teach him what is what. Oh, I hope Mrs. Reeves won’t find it out. Don’t tell her, Mr. Bellenger."