"And may I bring her to you here?"
"If you choose."
It was the first open recognition between the mother and her son's betrothed. Their other meeting had been in public, when, with a sedulous dread, both had behaved exactly as usual, and no word or manner had betrayed their altered relations. Now, when for the first time it was needful for Miss Silver to be received as a daughter elect, with all the natural sympathy due from one woman to another under similar circumstances, all the warmth of kindness due from a mother to her son's chosen wife—then the want, the mournful want, made itself felt.
Mrs. Halifax stood at the dining-room window, trying vainly to regain self-control.
"If I could only love her! If only she had made me love her!" she muttered, over and over again.
I hoped, from the bottom of my soul, that Edwin had not heard her—had not seen her involuntarily recoil, as he led to his mother his handsome girl that he seemed so proud of, his happy, affianced wife. Happiness melts some natures, like spring and sunshine. Louise looked up with swimming eyes.
"Oh! be kind to me! Nobody was ever kind to me till I came here!"
The good heart gave way: Mrs. Halifax opened her arms.
"Be true to Edwin—love Edwin, and I shall love you—I am sure I shall."
Kissing her once or twice, the mother let fall a few tears; then sat down, still keeping the girl's hand, and busying herself with various little kindnesses about her.