Lady Bassett held out her arms to her, and the mothers had a sweet cry together in each other's arms.
Ruperta's eyes were wet at this; but she told her mother she ought not to agitate Lady Bassett, and she so ill.
“And that is true, my good, sensible girl,” said Mrs. Bassett; “but it has lain in my heart these nine years, and I could not keep it to myself any longer. But you are a beauty and a spoiled child, and so I suppose you think nothing of his giving you his tippet to keep you warm.”
“Don't say that, mamma,” said Ruperta, reproachfully. “I spoke to dear Compton about it not long ago. He had forgotten all about it, even.”
“All the more to his credit; but don't you ever forget it, my own girl.”
“I never will, mamma.”
By degrees the three became so unreserved that Ruperta was gently urged to declare her real sentiments.
By this time the young beauty was quite cured of her fear lest she should be an unwelcome daughter-in-law; but there was an obstacle in her own mind. She was a frank, courageous girl; but this appeal tried her hard.
She blushed, fixed her eyes steadily on the ground, and said, pretty firmly and very slowly, “I had always a great affection for my cousin Compton; and so I have now. But I am not in love with him. He is but a boy; now I—”
A glance at the large mirror, and a superb smile of beauty and conscious womanhood, completed the sentence.