As the light grew brighter and brighter the eyes of the stranger swept the room with undisguised wonder in their depths.
“How extraordinary!” she murmured, and then turned swiftly toward the girl. “Where does it come from? I can see no lights. And see! There are no shadows, not even beneath the table yonder. It—it is uncanny—but, oh, how lovely!”
Lydia was staring at her with wide-open eyes, frankly astonished. The eager, excited gleam vanished from Mrs Brood's lovely eyes. They narrowed slightly.
“Why do you stare at me?” she demanded.
“I beg your pardon,” cried the girl, blushing.
“I—I couldn't help it, Mrs Brood. Why, you are young!” The exclamation burst from her lips.
“Young?” queried the other, frowning.
“I—I expected——” began Lydia, and stopped in pretty confusion.
“I see. You expected a middle-aged lady? And why, pray, should James Brood marry a middle-aged person?”
“I—I don't know. I'm sorry if I have offended you.”