"Perhaps the child had acted of her own impulse," sighed his modesty.
"Perhaps she had been so taught," panted his hope.
At last he determined to end the estrangement or let friendship perish in the attempt. He wanted nothing but her forgiveness; that he felt he deserved.
He knew every afternoon at five the nurse was relieved by Mrs Cameron, who watched in the nursery while the babe slept. That hour, therefore, was chosen for his visit. He mounted the stairs two at a time and rapped at the familiar door. There was no answer. He turned the handle and entered.
Phœbe major sat at the open window idle. She was reading the picture promise of the clouds. Phœbe minor in a cot slept rosily in the far corner of the room.
"Good afternoon," he whispered softly, in order not to disturb the little slumberer.
Mrs Cameron extended a hand, but no smile greeted him. She scarcely turned from her study of the skies. Poor Danby's heart felt sore and heavy laden. He asked a few trivialities regarding the invalid's health, and each query received an appropriate reply—nothing more.
He had taken a seat facing hers by the window, but even then only a profile view of the face he loved was accorded him.
At length he could endure no longer.
"Mrs Cameron, I regret having come instead of Davis. He was engaged. I had no idea I should be so unwelcome. Have I offended you irremediably?"