“See! What have you seen this morning?”
“I have been in the study. It smells as a room does where men have passed the night drinking.”
“But after the change—after the promises.”
“The whiskey decanter was empty. I know it was full yesterday morning, for I saw Mrs Denton carry it in.”
“Ah!” sighed Gertrude.
“And this morning the man you have promised to marry is lying in a drunken sleep.”
“You do not know that,” cried Gertrude excitedly.
“I know enough to make me say once more—Gertrude, I am a childless old woman, and I love you as Mr Hampton loves you in his peculiar way, which is a good deal like mine—rough and clumsy, but very honest and true.”
“Dearest Mrs Hampton!” cried Gertrude, throwing her arms about the old lady’s neck; “as if I did not know how good, and kind, and loving you have always been.”
“Then listen to me once more, my darling, before it is too late. I do not look like the sort of woman who can talk about love, but I can, and I know what love is.”