"I suspect most maidens think a good deal about love whether or no they talk of it, don't they, Norman?" said Somerled.
"How should I know?" Basil asked.
Both men were different from their everyday selves to-night. They seemed self-conscious.
"Why, it's your business to know. You write novels. Or do you leave all the love parts to your sister?"
"I suppose widows may talk as much as they like about love," said Barrie reflectively, "having had it and passed it by."
The creature was pretending to take for granted that widows were poor, passée things who had lived their lives and could have no more personal interest in heather moons or honeymoons! Mrs. West grew pale, and was angry with herself for caring. Barrie made her feel faded—a "back number." She told herself that if she could not get rid of this girl the first thing to-morrow, she should be ill.
"You must ask your mother these questions, and she'll answer them better than I can," Aline said in her pretty voice, with her gentle smile.
Already she had heard from Barrie and from Somerled something of the girl's story, and knew that through family misunderstandings mother and daughter had been separated for years. "You must be so impatient to see her!" she went on.
"I am," said Barrie.
"I know Sir George Alexander a little," Aline answered. "He may take a curtain-raiser of ours; and it's occurred to me to telegraph him in the morning, as soon as the post-office opens. He'll be able to let us know where Mrs. Ballantree MacDonald's acting. We won't trust to the stage papers alone. It would be a pity to keep this child in suspense a minute longer than necessary. Don't you think it's a good plan, Mr. Somerled?"