“Is she the young lady who came to stay with you some time ago?” asked Mrs. Otway.
She was so much surprised, in a sense so much disturbed, by this unexpected confidence that she really hardly knew what she was saying. She had never thought of Major Guthrie as a marrying man. For one thing, she had frequently had occasion to see him, not only with her own daughter, but with other girls, and he had certainly never paid them any special attention. But now she did remember vividly the fact that a young lady had come and paid quite a long visit here before Easter. But she remembered also that Major Guthrie had been away at the time.
“Yes, Maisie came for ten days. Unfortunately, Alick had to go away before she left, for he had taken an early spring fishing with a friend. But I thought—in fact, I rather hoped at the time—that he was very much disappointed.”
“Yes, he naturally must have been, if what you say is——” and then she stopped short, for she did not like to say “if what you say is true,” so “if what you say is likely to come to pass,” she ended vaguely.
“I hope it will come to pass.” Mrs. Guthrie spoke very seriously, and once more she fixed her deep blue eyes on her visitor’s face. “I’m seventy-one, not very old as people count age nowadays, but still I’ve never been a strong woman, and I have a weak heart. I should not like to leave my son to a lonely life and to a lonely old age. He’s very reserved—he hasn’t made many friends in his long life. And I thought it possible he might have confided to you rather than to me.”
“No, he never spoke of the matter to me at all; in fact, we have never even discussed the idea of his marrying,” said Mrs. Otway slowly.
“Well, forget what I’ve said!”
But Mrs. Guthrie’s visitor went on, a little breathlessly and impulsively: “I quite understand how you feel about Major Guthrie, and I daresay he would be happier married. Most people are, I think.”
She got up; it was nearly six—time for her to be starting on her walk back to Witanbury.
Obeying a sudden impulse, she bent down and kissed the old lady good-bye. There was no guile, no taint of suspiciousness, in Mary Otway’s nature.