Nothing special was said, but it was quite patent to the visitor that all objection to Cyril Mallow’s attentions to her had been withdrawn on either side, and that she had been asked up there that Mrs Mallow might welcome her as her son’s future wife.
Sage’s heart beat fast, for she owned to it most fully now. It was wrong. She was faithless, but she did love Cyril, and giving herself up to the current of joyous thoughts, she allowed it to bear her softly on.
The interview grew more dream-like to her minute by minute as she listened to the burden of Mrs Mallow’s discourse, and fetched for her books, pictures, little drawers, and folios, whose contents the fond mother never wearied of displaying. Always the same tune, “My sons,” and ever something fresh to display. Cyril’s first copybook, his early letters to her from school, the sketches Frank had made, a little piece of poetry he had tried to write and never finished, broken toys, Cyril’s baby shoes, one after the other, an endless list of little trifles, all of which had to be carefully returned to their places in the treasured store.
Then the fond mother poured into the nowise unwilling ears anecdote after anecdote of Cyril’s goodness, the endless little attentions he had paid her, and the presents he had brought again and again—anecdote and present being of the most ordinary type, but gilded and burnished by motherly love till they shone with glowing lustre in Sage’s eyes.
It was a delicious time, and there was a soft, warm glow in her cheeks as she entered so thoroughly into the mother’s feelings, gaining confidence by degrees, but only to blush with confusion, and then turn pale with the pang she felt as Mrs Mallow drew her down into a close embrace, and whispered, softly—
“Bless you, my child! I am not surprised that Cyril should love you with all his heart.”
The tears of both were flowing, and the aching pain increased as Sage thought that Luke Ross also loved her with all his heart.
But there was no time for such thoughts, for just then the door opened softly, and the Rector entered, Sage starting up and looking confused; but she was set at ease directly, for he took her tenderly in his arms and kissed her, saying—
“God bless you, my child! We must have no half welcome now. I see you have won poor mamma’s heart, so I surrender mine. There, there, my dear; don’t cry! You have a pleasant little mission here.”
Sage looked up at him wonderingly.