This long telegram from my mother showed most reckless extravagance. I could imagine how Lady Ursula had worked upon her feelings.
“But I am not going to give you up, little ring,” I said, kissing it.
Chapter Ten.
Relations.
I parried Hetty’s curious remarks with regard to the telegram, putting her off at first with vague replies, then speaking decidedly.
“I have had a message from my mother, dear Hetty,” I said; “nothing at all about Jack, nothing that will interest you.”
“Oh, of course, Rosamund—” Hetty’s pale face flushed vividly. She took up some knitting she was trying to get through, a sock for Jack, of course. I saw her poor little fingers trembling. She was the most sensitive little creature. A touch, a word, sent her into herself. She felt so unsure of her position, so unsure of everything, except that she had a great hungry wealth of love to give away to those who would receive it of her.
As I saw her making these futile, pathetic little attempts to get on with her knitting, I felt some of the experiences one might feel if one had set one’s foot on a little wild-flower and crushed it. I watched her timid, downcast eyes for a moment, then I spoke.