Angela had been making some purchases in Kensington one afternoon, and was thinking that it was time to return home, when she came unexpectedly face to face with an acquaintance. It was Elizabeth Murray.
Angela knew her slightly, but had always liked her. A great wave of sympathy rose in her heart as her eyes rested upon the face of a woman who had, perhaps, lost her lover, even as Angela had lost hers. Elizabeth's face had parted with its beautiful bloom; it was pale and worn, and the eyelids looked red and heavy, as though from sleepless nights and many tears. The two clasped hands warmly. Angela's lips quivered, and her eyes filled with tears, but Elizabeth's face was rigidly set in an enforced quietude.
"I am glad I have met you," she said. "I was wondering where to find you. I did not know your address."
"Come and see me now," said Angela, by a sudden impulse.
"Thank you. I will."
A few minutes' walking brought them to the old house which Rupert had lately taken. It was in a state of some confusion: boxes stood in the passages, parcels were lying about the floor. Angela coloured a little as she saw Elizabeth's eye fall on some of these.
"We are going away," she said, hurriedly, "on a sea-voyage. The doctors have been recommending it to Rupert for some time."
This was strictly true.
"I knew you were going away," said Elizabeth, in a low tone.
She was standing beside a table in the drawing-room: her left hand rested upon it, her eyes were fixed absently upon the muff which she carried in her right hand. Angela asked her to sit down. But Elizabeth did not seem to hear. She began to speak with a nervous tremor in her voice which made Angela feel nervous, too.