"You mean the children. Wonderful, considering; well-brought-up, nice, straight, manly boys, that Rochfort says, take after his father—but very dark."
"Ah—like their mother!" and there was a faint note of satisfaction in the tone.
"No, I believe she was fair; but of course there is native blood, no denying it; the little girl has golden hair, and is lovely."
Mrs. Rochfort rose, and began to pace the room. Within the last ten minutes, her mind, her whole mental outlook, had been completely changed: amazement, incredulity, outraged confidence, and wounded affection, were each striving to make themselves heard. She felt as if her world had suddenly crumbled beneath her feet! That Robbie was a flirt, was always admitted, he was handsome and gay; he liked women, they liked him. His foolish little flirtations had undoubtedly vexed her but they meant nothing.—She knew in her heart, that Rob was fond of her, that she came first in his life—and now this thunderbolt had struck her! Robbie had deserted and deceived her; in the first years of their married life, he had abandoned her for an old love—a half-caste woman! The horror, the strangeness of the idea, made her giddy to contemplate.
He was no longer her Robbie; it was little short of a loss by death—in future, they must be strangers. In future, she would go through life alone, and what would people say? For instance, her prim, old-maidish cousins, who made nasty speeches, about "fortune hunters" and had been so openly envious of her handsome husband. As the poor distracted woman endeavoured to clear her mind, she walked to and fro, unconscious of the young man who stood by the window, following her movements, with anxious interest.
"What am I to do?" she moaned. "Oh, what am I to do?" and she wrung her hands.
"After all, Mrs. Rochfort, she is dead," urged Mallender; "it's not as if she were at Panjeverram; those children have been motherless for nine years. It would be different if he deceived you, and came out to see her—now would it not?"
Mrs. Rochfort vouchsafed no notice of this appeal, but ceased to pace the room, and murmured as if to herself, "What am I to do?"
"Give me a line to take back," suggested the delegate, "and put some sort of an end to Rochfort's misery. I have a car here, short measures are the most merciful."
"Is he really so miserable?" she asked, and she gazed at Mallender with piteous eyes.