"Of what description, mademoiselle? Of grief, or—or of joy?"
"Of joy, monsieur," she answered, distinctly.
"Mademoiselle," said the doctor, "joy rarely kills."
She bent her erect head again.
She had not regarded the fact of her old enemy's presence ever so slightly while she spoke, but when the doctor was gone she addressed her.
"I have been thinking of returning to London at once, if possible," she said. "Miss Gower's ill-health renders any further absence a neglect. If I go, would it be possible for you to remain here, with Miss North?"
"Pamela?" suggested Lady Throckmorton.
"Theodora," was the calm reply.
An odd silence of a moment, and then the eyes of the two women met each other, in one long, steady look; Lady Throckmorton's profoundly searching, wonderingly questioning; Priscilla Gower's steadfast, calm, almost defiant.
Then Lady Throckmorton spoke.