"
"Where is he now?" she said in a whisper, not daring to look at him lest
she should show how disturbed she was.
"He is in a hospital in New York."
"Has he no friends?"
"Do I count as nothing at all?"
"I mean no others--no wife or family?"
"He has a wife, and she has a daughter. That is all I know. They have been
parted through some cause. Why do you ask? Do you know him?"
"No, I do not know him."
Do you know the wife? Please tell me, for at his request I am trying to
find her, and I have failed."
"Yes, I know her," she said painfully and slowly. "You need search no
longer. She will be at your hotel to-night."
He started. Then he said: "I'm glad of that. How did you come to know? Are
you friends?"
Though her face was turned from him resolutely, he saw a flush creep up
her neck to her hair.
"We are not friends," she said vaguely. "But I know that she is coming to
see her daughter."
"Who is her daughter?"
She raised her parasol toward the spot where Mildred Margrave stood and
said, "That is her daughter."
"Miss Margrave? Why has she a different name?"
"Let Mrs. Gladney explain that to you. Do not make yourself known to the
daughter till you see her mother. Believe me, it will be better for the
daughter's sake.
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