"Seemed to take no interest in it at all. We were there only a few minutes——"
Silence fell between them, a silence filled with meaning. Lady Adela had intended to speak about Breton—now, suddenly, she could say nothing. The mention of the picture-gallery had brought back all her earlier discomfort—she saw the picture, the eyes, the nose, the mouth, the white pinched cheeks. Then she saw the great bedroom upstairs, the high white bed, the little shrivelled figure.
Had Rachel pointed this contrast? Had Breton? Was it something that Roddy had discovered already, something that had made his courage so easy for him? What, what was going to be done with her if she were no longer afraid? Why, on that terror, on that trembling service, were built the foundations of all her life. How could she face that picture that the world had of a splendid, historic, dominating figure if she herself saw only a sick, miserable old woman tumbling to pieces, passing to decay?
The minutes had passed, and she had said nothing. Roddy must be wondering at her silence. To her relief Lady Carloes came towards her to say good-bye.
Roddy's eyes were puzzled. For what had she carried him off if she had nothing to say to him?
III
When they were all gone she went up to her mother. Before the door she paused. The house was very still, and her heart was furiously beating.
She opened the door, and at the sight of the room was instantly reassured.
Dorchester met her. "Her Grace went to bed early to-night. But she will see you, my lady."