They were David Beasley
and Mr. Dowden. "I do wish," said my cousin, resuming her rocking--"I
do wish dear David Beasley would get a new trap of some kind; that old
phaeton of his is a disgrace! I suppose you haven't met him? Of course,
living at Mrs. Apperthwaite's, you wouldn't be apt to."
"But what is he doing with Mr. Dowden?" I asked.
She lifted her eyebrows. "Why--taking him for a drive, I suppose."
"No. I mean--how do they happen to be together?"
"Why shouldn't they be? They're old friends--"
"They ARE!" And, in answer to her look of surprise, I explained that I
had begun to speak of Beasley at Mrs. Apperthwaite's, and described the
abruptness with which Dowden had changed the subject.
"I see," my cousin nodded, comprehendingly. "That's simple enough.
George Dowden didn't want you to talk of Beasley THERE. I suppose it may
have been a little embarrassing for everybody--especially if Ann
Apperthwaite heard you."
"Ann? That's Miss Apperthwaite? Yes; I was speaking directly to her. Why
SHOULDN'T she have heard me? She talked of him herself a little
later--and at some length, too."
"She DID!" My cousin stopped rocking, and fixed me with her glittering
eye. "Well, of all!"
"Is it so surprising?"
The lady gave her boat to the waves again. "Ann Apperthwaite thinks
about him still!" she said, with something like vindictiveness. "I've
always suspected it. She thought you were new to the place and didn't
know anything about it all, or anybody to mention it to.
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