“Ah!” said Cecil, his momentary flash of interest dying out. A moment’s eager suspicion had awakened in him, then died out again. He had no interest in the widow and child of Sir Edward’s son, as the bride, who was a little awry in her facts, called them. “Poor Sir Edward! They say he tried to make up in kindness to them for his cruelty to his son,” continued the pretty English girl. “He died last year; and after what came by law of entail to his wife and grandson, he gave all the rest of his money to the beautiful Mrs. Trueheart.” “Was she beautiful?” asked Dot, who adored beauty. “As a dream!” replied her sister-in-law, enthusiastically. “I have heard her called the most beautiful lady in England, and no one speaks of her low birth now, since Sir Edward took her up and left her so much money. Lord and Lady Westerley adore her and her child.” “They ought to do so, since she brought them their happiness,” said some one; and then the conversation languished, as no one took any interest in Sir Edward Trueheart’s relative except Mrs. Doctor Charley. Charley himself, who had never met any of the Truehearts for years, had no suspicion of the truth that the Mrs. Trueheart of his wife’s story was his brother’s missing wife and Sir Edward Trueheart’s granddaughter--not his daughter-in-law, as the bungling story ran. He did not even connect the name with Molly Trueheart, whose mother had been an actress and her father, no doubt, an actor. CHAPTER XLII. “Cecil,” his mother said one week later, “do you never intend to marry again?” “You forget that I have a wife already,” with a frown. “Do not speak of her!” impatiently. “No doubt she is dead, but you ought to have got a divorce from her long ago. Do you not see that Louise Barry is dying for you?” “Nonsense,” he replied curtly. “I see nothing of the kind.” “You must certainly have observed a change in her,” persisted Mrs. Laurens. “Yes, her beauty is fading as might be expected. She must be almost thirty,” he replied cynically. “She is five years younger than you, at least,” reprovingly. “And she might have been married long ago. She has had suitors enough. But I believe she has loved you all the time.” “Nonsense!” he said again. “But, Cecil, you would be so much happier if you married again, and you would please us all if you took Louise.” “I would do much to please you, mother, but not this. I shall never love again. My heart’s wealth was poured out on my false young wife, and all its powers were wasted. If you wish me to stay with you, leave me at peace on this subject. I never expect to marry again,” he answered, sadly but decisively. Mrs. Laurens sighed deeply, and looked out of the window of the library where they were sitting together. To change the conversation she said carelessly: “There is a strange man and a pretty little girl coming up the maple avenue.”