Man!" she cried, "I've found you out, but horses sha'n't drag
it out of me. No, Quincy, you're always right, and I won't peach. But
'twas mean not to tell me."
Quincy looked at her in voiceless astonishment. "What do you mean,
Maude, and where did you gather up all that slang?"
"I might ask you," said Maude, "where you found your wife. I've been
talking to her upstairs. She must have thought that papa and mamma knew
all about it, for she told me who she was, just as easy. Who is she,
Quincy?"
He drew his sister down beside him on a sofa. "She was Miss Mary Alice
Pettengill. She is now known to a limited few, of which you, sister
Maude, are one, as Mrs. Mary Alice Sawyer; but she is known to a wide
circle of readers as Bruce Douglas, the author of many popular stories,
as also of that celebrated book entitled Blennerhassett."
"Is that so?" cried Maude; "why, papa is wild over that book. He's been
reading it aloud to us evenings, and he said last night that that young
man--you hear, Quincy?--that young man, had brought the truth to the
surface at last.
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