"I'm sorry," muttered Derrick, regretfully, and frowning at his boots. "The name slipped out before I knew it." He laughed ruefully. "It seems as if I were unable to conceal anything from you."
"There is no cause for fear," she said in a tremulous voice. "You may speak to me as you would to a father confessor; as you would to a—mother."
"Oh, I know that," said Derrick, and his own voice shook a little. "Strangely enough—I'm afraid you'll think I'm pretty impudent—but ever since I saw you I have felt——Oh, well, I can't explain." He leant forward with profound respect and a warmer feeling he could not understand. "I suppose it was because you were so good to me; perhaps because you were so lonely, here amongst all these people——Oh, I can't explain, and I'm afraid I'm distressing you," he went on remorsefully; for the frail figure was trembling, and the tears had gathered in the dark eyes. "I'm a blundering kind of idiot, and I'm worrying you with my tuppenny-ha'penny affairs. Forgive me!"
She drew her hand across her eyes; then slowly, hesitatingly, laid the hand on his arm.
"There is nothing to forgive," she murmured. "But tell me. I too have felt—I am a lonely woman; you—you are young enough—you might be—shall we say that I have been drawn to you as you say you have been drawn to me—you said so, did you not?—that I have felt as if I were—your mother."
"I wish to God you were!" said Derrick, huskily, and feeling, with amazement, and an Englishman's annoyance, that his own eyes were moist.
"Let us pretend that we are—mother and son," she said, in so low a voice as to be almost inaudible. "Therefore, as a son, you need conceal nothing from me. Tell me, who is this man whose name escaped you?"
As she asked the question, she made an evident effort to control her agitation, and her voice and manner were well-nigh calm, and infinitely tender and persuasive.
"Oh, Heyton!" said Derrick, feeling that he would be quite safe to tell her everything. "He is the eldest, the only, son of the Marquess of Sutcombe; and, of course, he will be the next Marquess; and, of course, that's the reason why Miriam—Miriam Ainsley—chucked me and married him."
"This Lord Heyton, what manner of man is he?" she said.