"Are you quite sure you will not mind my asking?"
"I am not at all sure! Suppose you try it, and find out."
"Well,—I don't believe you will really mind. But—was not Mr. Raymond Ferrers—very fond of you, dear?"
Mrs. Grahame coloured like a girl.
"Yes, dear, he was. He was—I am afraid—very fond of me, Hilda. It was years and years ago, of course; he was only a lad. But,—well, it happened that we had never met since, you see; I think we were both a little overcome, for I, too, was very fond of him, Hilda, though not in the way he wished. Poor Raymond!"
"You—you couldn't care for him, dear?"
"My child! I had seen your father; how could I think of any one else? But Raymond did not know that; and—and it was hard for him. I trust I did not appear foolish, Hilda?"
She spoke anxiously, and Hilda laughed outright.
"Darling, you appeared like an angel, and were perfectly calm. I never should have guessed it from you; but—he, it was all over him, at the first glance."
"Poor Raymond!" said Mrs. Grahame again, meditatively. "And yet he was very happy in his marriage, I have always heard. His wife was a lovely person, and sincerely attached to him. But—I suppose the seeing me brought back his boyhood, and some of the old feeling,—we are singular creatures, Hilda. Perhaps you think I might have told you of this before, Hilda. You see, I never thought of it as anything belonging to me, dear."