It was wonderful how an old maid like Miss Usher had developed such a motherly heart, as well as so much worldly wisdom. She prudently abstained from intruding on her companion’s grief, and left her to enjoy several good comfortable cries, and talks with Mrs. Hogan. She accompanied Mary on a car to see Lota one Sunday, and left her in the hands of old Mike, who proudly escorted her round the place, and pointed out the terrace, the room where she was born, and gave her the first and, needless to say, most eloquent, description of her own mother; and the disconsolate girl began at last to realise, as she stood listening to him, this mother whom she had never seen.
“An’ sure ye have the hair and eyes and hands, aye, and the very walk of her,” declared Mike. “Though Katty brought ye up on a flagged floor, ye see these things come out in the appearance.”
“And so you have guessed it all the time?”
“Is it guess?” he repeated indignantly. “Sure, haven’t I known it.”
“And that was why you used to come and stare at me in that strange way?”
“To be sure it was. And what else?”
“And I have never seen her!”
“It would be hard for ye, seein’ she giv’ her life for yours. But when ye look in the glass ye see her. I’m told when his lordship first laid eyes on ye he got a terrible turn. He’s gone home for the present, and left ye with the ould wan over there,” indicating Miss Usher, who, under a distant tree, was happy with a book. “An’ for why?”
“Because I didn’t want to stir, I think, and I made so strange——”
“Now what balderdash is that, yer telling me?” cried Mike.