“Speak, madame, speak. Tell me all that you will,” said Mère Pauline in accents which custom and virtue alike prevented from sounding too markedly resigned.
Nina embarked upon the story of her grief. Morris was the prodigal son—wild, undisciplined, ungrateful, straying in far foreign lands and leaving an adoring—and still youthful—parent to deplore his want of affection and of consideration in the solitude of a country retreat. Only Mrs. Severing’s Creator shared with her the knowledge of what such a desertion meant to the heart of a mother.
“Il faut prier.”
Pray! Did not Nina spend the long, lonely watches of the night in prayers and supplications for the erring one? Was not this very Retreat to be the occasion of further petitions on his behalf? Mère Pauline would join with her in storming Heaven for this object?
“But certainly.” Mère Pauline’s tone was gravely compassionate. She spoke of trust, patience, and sacrifices to be offered, and the little homily was accompanied by a pressure of the hand and softened glance that caused Nina inwardly to retract, or at least modify as far as she herself was concerned, the accusation of medievalism.
“After all,” she told herself, retiring in some satisfaction from the interview, “she is beginning to understand that one came here from a motive. It’s probably a relief to listen to something, real, after the endless chatter of that terrible Mulholland woman.” A heavy step hastening up the stairs behind her caused Mrs. Severing to glance round with an apprehension that proved to be only too well founded.
“Mrs. Severing! Mrs. Severing! Just wait one minute. The stairs try me a little, you know, but I was determined to catch up with you,” panted Mrs. Mulholland. “I just want to say one word.”
Nina paused reluctantly, one foot upon the step above that on which she was standing, and one hand determinedly grasping the banisters. Mrs. Mulholland stood just below, heaving from her exertions, and evidently only pausing for sufficient breath to continue the ascent.
“You escaped me somehow at the chapel door yesterday, and I’ve been looking for you ever since—just one word I wanted to say, before we all go into silence. I looked for you this morning, but I don’t join the ladies at breakfast, you know, I just have a cup of tea at seven o’clock. A cup of tea—that’s all I ever take. The fact is, I always go to the Community Mass at six o’clock. It isn’t the custom for all the ladies to hear Mass then—they have their own Mass, at a later hour, as you know. But I always go to the six o’clock, and stay on for Office afterwards. And then I have just a cup of tea. Doesn’t give any real trouble to anyone, you know, not if it’s done regularly.”
“No,” said Nina in tones which hitherto had invariably proved sufficient, from the talented Mrs. Severing, to discourage any attempt at over-familiarity on the part of her social inferiors. “Do I understand that you want to speak to me, Mrs.—er——?”