“I know that,” said Mrs. Pelham, taking out her handkerchief and applying it afresh to her eyes. “And now—I say it quite frankly, Dick—now that God has seen fit to remove little Piers, I am more glad that you should have the property than any one else in the world. If anything could reconcile me to the death of my only boy, it is the thought that you are his heir.”
“Thank you,” said Dick. “You are more than good.”
“Will you come and visit us at Pelham Towers this winter, Mrs. Pelham?” said Barbara.
Mrs. Pelham looked attentively from one young face to the other—Barbara’s full of eagerness, fire and enthusiasm, Dick’s strangely downcast.
“Yes, I will come,” she answered. “Dick, you feel all this too much.”
Pelham walked to the mantelpiece. There he stood fidgeting with one of the ornaments, his back turned to Mrs. Pelham and Barbara. Barbara saw that the interview was proving too much for him. She was distressed and alarmed at his state, and as soon as possible rose to leave.
“What a short visit!” said Mrs. Pelham in a fretful tone. “I hoped you would both stay and have a long talk. There is so much that we have to talk over together.”
“I will come again to-morrow,” said Barbara in her soft voice, glancing as she spoke towards her husband.
“He is dreadfully upset,” she continued, dropping her voice almost to a whisper. “I will come by myself if I may.”
“When do you leave London?” asked Mrs. Pelham.