He led the child into the drawing-room, where Mrs. Fairfax was presiding at the afternoon tea-table. Nesta was not there, and Grace was just leaving the room.
A smile lightened Mrs. Fairfax's grave face at the sight of Betty.
'All alone?' she asked, bending down to kiss her.
'I've come to bring you a letter,' said Betty, dimpling over with pleasure and importance.
Mrs. Fairfax made her sit down in a little cushioned chair, and took the note in her hand. As she read it, she knitted her brows, and her lips took their sternest curve; then rising she went to the farther end of the room, and stood looking out of the low French window, her back turned to Betty, and her hands clenched convulsively by her side.
Nesta was right in surmising what a torrent of painful memories would be aroused by Major St. Clair's advent in their neighbourhood.
If the letter had come a few weeks before, there would have been only one answer; but Mrs. Fairfax had been learning lately from the great Master Himself, and her heart was softened and subdued. Still it was a hard struggle, and pride fought for predominance. At length she turned round, and went to her writing-desk; and then Betty crept up softly to her.
'Major St. Clair asked me to ask you to see him,' she said, laying her little hand on Mrs. Fairfax's knee.
'I will write my answer, Betty; I cannot do that,' was the cold reply, as Mrs. Fairfax turned her head away from the child.
But Betty was not to be put off.