But the thought of the tired face haunted kind Betty as she sat down to supper. She told her mother something of the new neighbour.
"She's such a decided, determined look and manner, mother. She's been pretty, and she's rather pretty still, only her face has grown hard, as if she'd had a lot of trouble. She's young to be a widow."
"What makes you think she's a widow? She did not tell you so."
"There's no sign of a man about the place; she clearly has to fend for herself, and to English people it's hard work. They're not brought up to be useful!"
Mrs. Treherne laughed. "She's English, then."
"Yes, she said so, and she's proud and independent; but I think when Jack is in bed I'll risk the chance of a snub, and go and see what I can do for her."
An hour later Betty stood again before Mrs. Kenyon's door. From the inner room came a sound of singing, and through the half-opened door Betty caught a glimpse of a little bed that stood in the corner, over which Mrs. Kenyon bent tenderly soothing Eva to sleep with her soft lullaby.
"She has one tender spot in her heart, anyway," thought Betty, giving a little cough to proclaim her presence. Mrs. Kenyon turned and came toward her on tip-toe, drawing the door of her bedroom gently to behind her.
"Eva was excited and would not go to sleep. I don't generally spoil her like that, but she's off now as sound as a top."
"I've come to help you for an hour or two if you will have me."