It would be hard to describe Mrs. Edmonstone’s emotion, as she preceded Guy to the dressing-room, and sat down, looking up to him as he stood in his old place by the fire. She thought he did not look well, though it might be only that the sun-burnt colour had given place to his natural fairness; his eyes, though bright as ever, did not dance and sparkle; a graver expression sat on his brow; and although he still looked very young, a change there certainly was, which made him man instead of boy—a look of having suffered, and conquered suffering. She felt even more motherly affection for him now than when he last stood there in the full tide of his first outburst of his love for her daughter, and her heart was almost too full for speech; but he seemed to be waiting for her, and at last she said,—‘I am very glad to have you here again.’
He smiled a little, then said, ‘May I tell you all about it?’
‘Sit down here. I want very much to hear it. I am sure you have gone
through a good deal.’
I have, indeed,’ said he, simply and gravely; and there was a silence,
while she was certain that, whatever he might have endured, he did not
feel it to have been in vain.
‘But it is at an end,’ said she. ‘I have scarcely seen Mr. Edmonstone, but he tells me he is perfectly satisfied.’
‘He is so kind as to be satisfied, though you know I still cannot explain about the large sum I asked him for.’
‘We will trust you,’ said Mrs. Edmonstone, smiling, ‘but I am very anxious to hear how you came to an understanding.’
Guy went over the story in detail, and very much affected she was to hear how entirely unfounded had been the suspicion, and how thankful he was for Mr. Edmonstone’s forgiveness.
‘You had rather to forgive us!’ said she.
‘You forget how ill I behaved,’ said Guy, colouring. ‘If you knew the madness of those first moments of provocation, you would think that the penance of a lifetime, instead of only one winter, would scarce have been sufficient.’
‘You would not say, as Charles does, that the suspicion justified your anger?’