"She may not care in the same way, but she certainly loves them; and as for her mother, it seems to me that Aldyth simply worships the mother whom she has never seen."
"She must have seen her," said Kate.
"Of course; but you need not be so absurdly literal, Kate. Aldyth was only two years old when her mother went to Australia. She cannot remember her."
"It always seems to me that Miss Lorraine is more truly Aldyth's mother," said Mrs. Bland. "She has had the care of her ever since she was a few months old, for shortly after Aldyth was born, Captain Lorraine's health began to fail, and then Mrs. Lorraine travelled about with him, and the baby was left with her aunt. I am sure Miss Lorraine feels that Aldyth is her child, and I believe she provides for her almost entirely."
"Yes, but Aldyth does not feel like that," said Hilda. "She is fond of her aunt, and very grateful to her; but she loves her mother best. She is always looking forward to her mother's coming to England. I wonder if she ever will come!"
"Poor Aldyth!" said Mrs. Bland, with a sigh.
"Why do you always say 'Poor Aldyth' when we speak of Aldyth's mother?" asked Hilda, quickly.
"Do I always say it?" replied Mrs. Bland.
"Yes, you do, mother, and I want to know why. I believe it is because you think that Aldyth's mother loves her eldest child less than her eldest child loves her. Is that it?"
"Well, perhaps," Mrs. Bland admitted. "I must confess I find it hard to understand how a mother could leave such a tiny child behind her in England, and let her grow up to womanhood without making an effort to see her. I can only suppose that the other children, born to her in Melbourne, have taken Aldyth's place in her heart, and that, absorbed in her home life, she thinks but little of her eldest daughter, and regards her rather as Miss Lorraine's adopted child than as her own."