“It is nothing, Woodham; come in,” said Claude quietly, as the woman was withdrawing after giving an unheeded tap, and entering the room.
“Mr Trevithick’s compliments, ma’am, and would you see him in the study?”
“Yes, at once,” said Claude; and both thought how she had seemed to change during the past few weeks, from the slight girl into the dignified woman. “Come, Mary.”
“Isn’t it private business?” said Mary, shrinking back strangely.
“Yes, dear; our private business,” said Claude, and they passed out, Sarah Woodham holding open the door.
Claude gave her an affectionate smile, and crossed to the study; and, as the door closed after them, Sarah Woodham stood alone in the doorway, with her hands clasped and eyes closed as she muttered softly—
“And let me live for her—die for her, grateful for her undeserved love, in expiation—oh, my God, in expiation!”
“Ah!” said Trevithick, rising from a chair at the table covered with papers, and looking like the great, heavy, bashful Englishman he was, as he placed chairs opposite to where he had been seated, “I am sorry to trouble you, Miss Gartram, Miss Dillon too,” he said with a smile, as he beamed upon her.
Mary gave him an angry, resentful look, and he turned chapfallen on the instant, and became the man of business again, then cold, and seeming to perspire figures.
“Miss Dillon takes part in our little conference, Miss Gartram?” he said, rather stiffly.