"But,
only listen," said Amita, "we've got it all out of the butler and
the grooms. It's such a romantic story!"
"What is?" said Maruja, suddenly.
"Why, the private tramp's."
"The peripatetic secretary," suggested Raymond.
"Yes," continued Amita, "Mr. Prince was so struck with his
gratitude to the old Doctor that he hunted him up in San Jose, and
brought him here. Since then Prince has been so interested in him--
it appears he was somebody in the States, or has rich relations--
that he has been telegraphing and making all sorts of inquiries
about him, and has even sent out his own lawyer to hunt up
everything about him. Are you listening?"
"Yes."
"You seem abstracted."
"I am hungry."
"Why not dine here; it's an hour earlier than at home. Aladdin
would fall at your feet for the honor. Do!"
Maruja looked at them with innocent vagueness, as if the
possibility were just beginning to dawn upon her.
"And Clara Wilson is just dying to see the mysterious unknown
again. Say yes, little Maruja."
Little Maruja glanced at them with a large maternal compassion.
"We shall see."
Mr. Prince, on his return an hour later, was unexpectedly delighted
with Maruja's gracious acceptance of his invitation to dinner. He
was thoroughly sensible of the significance which his neighbors had
attached to the avoidance by the Saltonstall heiress of his various
parties and gorgeous festivities ever since a certain act of
indiscretion--now alleged to have been produced by the exaltation
of wine--had placed him under ban.
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