"I
already know it. I am glad you--"
But here I was interrupted by a soft cry from Bettina, and by a
half-smothered scream from Frances, both of whom deserted me suddenly
and ran toward the door I had just entered. Turning, I saw Frances with
her arms about the Abbe's neck, and Bettina clasping one of his hands.
I thought the two had gone mad, but when Bettina saw my look of surprise
and inquiry, she dropped his hand, came to me, and asked:--
"Did you want us to pretend that we did not know him? If so, you should
have told us."
"But you don't know him," I declared.
"Perhaps I don't," she returned, laughing softly and shrugging her
shoulders, "but evidently your cousin does. If not, she should take her
arms from around his neck."
"But she is mistaken," I insisted.
"She seems to be convinced," answered Bettina, with a curious little
glance up to me, half laughing, half inquiring. Evidently she was
doubtful whether I spoke in jest or in earnest.
Frances still clung to the Abbe, her head resting on his shoulder, so I
started toward her, intending to correct her mistake. Bettina, seeing my
purpose, caught me by the arm, saying:--
"Don't you really know?"
The Abbe turned his face toward me, and when I caught a glimpse of his
eyes without spectacles, I recognized George Hamilton, and almost choked
myself in smothering a cry.
Frances turned to me, asking indignantly, "Why did not you tell me?"
"Because I did not know," I answered, hardly able to believe the truth.
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