The great love they had one for the other, perhaps, for love has been known to pierce the mental fog we each one of us weave about ourselves and so allow us to help one another, sometimes even at a great distance.
Maria Hobson knocked and opened Jane Coop's door, who rose and came quickly towards her; and as her grace's maid involuntarily glanced round the room, old Nannie peered over her shoulder with the hope of seeing her young mistress in the corridor.
"Isn't she here?"
"My young lady? No; she's dancing." She paused, and put out her hand.
"Isn't she dancing? Isn't she?"
Why did Jane Coop fear as the others feared, and why did her bonny face go suddenly white?
Because she, too, was one of the happy, limited throng who know what real love is.
"My mistress would like to speak to you, Miss Coop."
"What's wrong? Maria Hobson, tell me what's wrong."
Hobson allowed the unlicensed use of her Christian name to pass unnoticed; she closed the door behind her and spoke gently, as she took the other woman's hand and shook it, which was her somewhat masculine way of showing sympathy.
"I don't know; none of us know that anything is wrong. As Mike O'Rafferty used to say. 'We may be afther barking in the wrong back-yard,' but I had a dream, Jane Coop. Sit you down whilst I'm telling it you."