'Yes,' replied Gladys reluctantly. 'I wrote to her in the summer. Mr. Fordyce allowed me to send her some money,—not in charity, it was the payment of a just debt,—and when she replied I knew by her letter that she was still very poor. I have always meant to have her come to me at Bourhill, but it will be delightful if she can come altogether.'
'You have a good heart, Gladys; you will not forget those who have befriended you.'
'I hope not, I pray not; only sometimes I am afraid it is harder for some reasons to be rich than poor.'
These words slightly surprised Mrs. Fordyce, though she did not ask an explanation of them.
'Try to sleep, my child, and don't worry your dear brain with plans,' she said, and, with a motherly kiss, returned to the little salon to enjoy the rare luxury of recalling old memories she had shared with the friend of her youth. They sat far on into the night, and before they parted Mrs. Fordyce was in full possession of the whole story of these weary and sordid years through which Henrietta Bonnemain had uncomplainingly borne her burden of poverty and care.
'Then the Colonel turned up,' she concluded, with a curious little tender smile; 'just when my affairs were at the lowest ebb he came here to visit an old regimental friend who lives over the way. So we met, and both being unattached, we drew to each other, and next month we are to be married.'
'Tell me about him, Henrietta, tell me all about him. I declare I am as silly and curious as a school-girl—far more curious about this new lover of yours than I ever was about the old.'
'There is no comparison between the two, Isabel—none at all. Captain Bonnemain was a good man, and he loved me dearly, but it is nearly always a mistake to marry a foreigner. It seems a cruel thing to say, but I never felt to poor Louis as I felt to the noble Englishman who has done me so great an honour.'
Her eyes were full of tears. Mrs. Fordyce saw that she was deeply moved.
'I do not know what he sees in me. He is so handsome, so noble, and so rich, he might marry whom he willed. He has no relatives to be angry over it; and he says, if it pleases me, we can buy a place in Scotland, on the very shores of the Gairloch. Think of that, Isabel; think of your exiled Henrietta returning to that. God is too good, and I am too happy.'