"He took a professional interest in you, then?"
"Oh, my, yes; professional and every other way. Still does. Awful kind he can be when he likes; but when he doesn't like! My!"
I was sorry for Vio. With bloodless lips and strained eyes she sat grasping the arms of her chair in the effort to keep her self-mastery. Had I loved her less I could have been glad of this minute, because it was giving me what might be called my revenge. But I loved her too much. It was clear to me, too, that I loved her more than I ever did. My return had been a shock to her, and she had made a strenuous effort to be game. She was game. She had not fallen short of the most sporting standard, except in matters over which she had no control.
"Stroud is always like that," I endeavored to smile, "giving every one a helping hand. He mayn't be the wisest old dog in the world, but no one can say that he isn't kind and faithful."
As it happened I had better have kept quiet. Vio sat upright, all the force of her anger turned upon me.
"Has this girl been anything to you?"
"Yes, madam; a mother."
In her endeavor to control herself Vio uttered a hard pant, eying the girl up and down.
"Oh? Indeed? You're young to be ... a mother!"
"Only a little younger than you, madam; and not half so beautiful. Madam knows that any woman worth her salt is mother to any man down on his luck. I don't care who he is, or who she is."