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The truth was Wilbur Edes, before he met Margaret, had proposed to Alice Mendon. Alice had never told, and he had not, consequently Margaret did not know. Had she known it would have made no difference, since she could not imagine any man preferring Alice to herself.
She had rapped vigorously upon the front window, and a misty, rather beautiful blue eye had rolled interrogatively over Jim's shoulder. "Your robe is dragging," shrieked in shrill staccato Daisy Shaw; and there had been a dull nod of the head, a feeble pull at the dragging robe, then it had dragged again. "Oh, don't mind, dear," said Alice Mendon. "It is his own lookout if he loses the robe."
At his death in 1659 he was succeeded, as was mentioned, by his son Edward, whose daughter became the wife of the Reverend Joseph Emerson, the minister of Mendon who, when that village was destroyed by the Indians, removed to Concord, where he died in the year 1680. This is the first connection of the name of Emerson with Concord, with which it has since been so long associated.
"Awake?" he asked in his monosyllabic fashion. "Yes." "Say, old girl, Von Rosen has just this minute gone. Guess it's a match fast enough." "I always thought it would be Alice," returned Margaret wearily. Love affairs did seem so trivial to her at this juncture. "Alice Mendon has never cared a snap about getting married any way," returned Wilbur. "Some women are built that way. She is."
It was a horrible situation and her dear Margaret was the victim of her own hospitality. She looked across the table at Alice Mendon for another sympathiser, but Alice was talking busily to the man at her right about a new book. She had apparently not paid much attention. Annie wondered how it could have escaped her. That horrid girl had spoken so loudly. She looked up at Von Rosen.
"Look here, Mr. Brewster," he said, "you keep in the background a little. I am young and strong, and here are Sargent and Mendon. You'd better keep back." But Ellen, with a spring which was effectual because so utterly uncalculated, was before Granville and her father, and them all.
"You are not going," said Alice Mendon; "you will return quietly to your own home like a sensible woman. You are running away, and you know it." "Yes, I am," said Margaret in her desperate voice. "You would run away if you were in my place, Alice Mendon." "I could never be in your place," said Alice, "but if I were, I should stay and face the situation."
Annie Eustace had a nature which could not readily grasp some of the evil of humanity. She was in reality dazed before this. She was ready to believe an untruth rather than the incredible truth. But Alice Mendon was merciless. She resolved that Annie should know once for all. "We are neither of us mistaken," she said.
Snyder should intimate anything prejudicial to Fairbridge and especially that it was not good enough for Alice Mendon, who had been born there, and lived there all her life except the year she had been in college. If anything, she, Mrs. Slade, wondered if Alice Mendon were good enough for Fairbridge. What had she ever done, except to wear handsome costumes and look handsome and self-possessed?
It yet wanted a full hour of supper time. She had time to call on Alice Mendon and go to the post-office. Alice lived on the way to the post-office, in a beautiful old colonial house. Annie ran along the shady sidewalk and soon had a glimpse of Alice's pink draperies on her great front porch.
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