That the rector had introduced her was alone proof of her worthiness; and the gracious offer of the distinguished-looking lady to watch by the bedside of a stranger was certainly evidence of her good heart. The frost disappeared from her smile, and she warmed toward the Baroness. The call lengthened into a visit, and as the Baroness finally rose to go, Joy said:
“I will take you in and introduce you to mamma now. I think it will do her good to meet you,” and the Baroness followed the graceful girl through a narrow hall, and into a room which had evidently been intended for a dining-room, but which, owing to its size and its windows opening to the south, had been utilised as a sick chamber.
The invalid lay with her face turned away from the door. But by the movement of the delicate hand on the counterpane, Joy knew that her mother was awake.
“Mamma, I have brought a lady, a friend of Dr Stuart’s, to see you,” Joy said gently. The invalid turned her head upon the pillow, and the Baroness looked upon the face of—Berene Dumont.
“Berene!”
“Madam!”
The two spoke simultaneously, and the invalid had started upright in bed.
“Mamma, what is the matter? Oh, please lie down, or you will bring on another hæmorrhage,” cried the startled girl; but her mother lifted her hand.
“Joy,” she said in a firm, clear voice, “this lady is an old acquaintance of mine. Please go out, dear, and shut the door. I wish to see her alone.”
Joy passed out with drooping head and a sinking heart. As the door closed behind her the Baroness spoke.