"Perhaps I am," said the girl. "It is stupid of me. How was he looking?"
Mrs. Fanshawe calmed down at once and became softly pathetic again.
"Oh, so different to what he was when you saw him," she said, "when he was so cheery and jolly, and made all the women in Peshawar fall in love with him. At least, I am sure that I did. He looked so anxious and unhappy, Elizabeth, that my heart quite went out to him, and I longed to comfort him. And he brightened up so when he saw me; he looked quite radiant again. And you will never guess what a pretty welcome he gave me, though of course it was very foolish of him. He said, 'My dear little girl—my dear little girl!' twice over, just like that. And he held out both his hands to me, and dropped his umbrella in a puddle and never seemed to notice it. And there was I with my arms full of great heavy parcels. I declare for a moment I was quite ashamed before so true a gentleman as Sir Henry is. And he took all the parcels from me—and oh, my dear, it was so wonderful to me in my loneliness in the crowded streets to be taken care of again like that!—and carried them right up to the door, and gave them to Mary when she opened it. He would not let me touch them again myself."
Again the idea stood close to Elizabeth, holding her, so it seemed, not letting her turn her face away. And the soft, childlike voice went on.
"He asked after you, too," she said, "so nicely and affectionately. He would not come in then, for he had some other appointment; and though he wanted to break it I did not let him. But he is coming to dine here to-night. I shall not think of making any extra preparation for him. He will like it best just to see me in my quiet, modest little house just naturally."
There was a moment's rather awkward pause, for Mrs. Fanshawe had to consider how to reintroduce a topic that had been spoken of that morning between her and Elizabeth in hours of the "horrid little backyard." Elizabeth had wanted to go to the Queen's Hall to attend a concert of the most ravishing character that was to be performed that night, but had given up the idea owing to a marked querulousness on her stepmother's part at the prospect of passing a deserted evening. There had even been pained wonder at the girl caring to go out to an evening of pleasure so soon. But she was not apt to be troubled at her own inconsistencies, and the pause was not long.
"He will be sorry not to see you, I am sure, darling," she said, "but I think you told me you were going to a concert at the Queen's Hall. Very likely you will not be in till nearly eleven, and you may be sure I shall have a nice cosy little supper ready for you when you come back."
To Elizabeth this seemed but to confirm the idea that had forced itself on her; it needed, at any rate, little perspicacity to see that her stepmother, with the prospect of dining alone with Sir Henry, wanted her to keep the engagement which, in deference to her desire, she had abandoned. Nor was she surprised at the tenderness that followed. Mrs. Fanshawe rose in willowy fashion from her chair and stood behind Elizabeth's, gently stroking her hair.
"I want you to enjoy all the pleasures that I can contrive for you, dear," she said. "He whom we both miss so dreadfully, I know would wish us to enjoy—'richly to enjoy,' does not the Bible say? He would have hated to think that we were going to lose all our gaiety and happiness."
Elizabeth felt physically unable to bear the touch of that insincere, caressing hand. She got up quickly.