“Lady Catherine, her son, and Mr. Morton came together.”
Cora uttered a faint cry, and starting up began to pace the room, as if the mention of that name had stung her energies into painful activity.
Still I was not fully answered.
“And is no other lady with them?” I persisted.
“And what if there is, how should you care?” was the answer he gave, accompanied by a look so penetrating that I shrunk from it.
Cora also turned and gazed at me with her great, tearful eyes, as a gazelle might look at the hunter that had chased him down. I felt the whole force of that appealing look, but went on asking questions, determined to comprehend everything, and then act as my own soul should teach.
“And did they decide on anything?” I inquired.
“The mother wishes to contest—the son advises her to yield; their friends, as usual, are on both sides.”
“And so nothing is settled?”
“Nothing.”