The matter was soon explained, for she only needed to say to those about her, "This is my grandson,—my daughter Ellen’s child," for the news to spread rapidly, reaching at last to Mrs. Reeves, still seated on her throne. Greatly she wondered how it could be, and why William had not told her before; then, as she remembered her investigations with regard to the Bellengers, she added what was wanting to complete the tale, leaving out the robbery, and merely saying that Mr. Marshall’s poverty had been the chief objection to his marriage with Miss Ellen Bellenger. This she did because she knew that, with his grandmother for a prop, Walter could not be trampled down, and she meant to be the first to hold him up. In the midst of a group of ladies, to whom she was enumerating Jessie’s many virtues, Mrs. Bartow heard the news, and answered very carelessly: "Why, I knew that long ago. Mr. Marshall is a fine young man," and as she spoke, she wondered if he would share with William in his grandmother’s property. "Even if he does," she thought, "William will have the most, for his father is very wealthy,—then there is the name of Bellenger, which is something," and having thus balanced the two, and found the heavier weight in William’s favor, she looked after him, as he led Jessie away to the dancing-room, with a most benignant expression, particularly as she saw that Mrs. Reeves was looking at him too. "I wonder what she thinks now about his wishing to be with Charlotte?" she thought, and she longed for the moment when she could pay the lady for her ill-natured remarks. By this time Mrs. Bellenger had returned to her seat by Mrs. Reeves, and thinking this a favorable opportunity, Mrs. Bartow took her stand near them and began: "By the way, Mrs. Reeves, did you ever know any one in Leicester, Massachusetts, by the name of Marshall—Debby Marshall, I mean?" Mrs. Reeves started, with a look upon her face as if that which she had long feared and greatly dreaded had come upon her at last. Then, resuming her composure, she repeated the name: "Debby Marshall?—Debby Marshall? I certainly do not number her among my acquaintances." "I knew it must be a mistake," returned Mrs. Bartow, "particularly as she was malicious enough to say that your father was a tin peddler." "A tin peddler!" gasped Mrs. Reeves, making a furious attack upon her smelling salts. "I believe I’m going to faint. The idea! It’s perfectly preposterous! Where is this mischief-maker?" and the black eyes flashed round the room, as if in search of the offending Aunt Debby.