Love and hatred

by Marie Belloc Lowndes

The love he had borne for the Spanish woman, of whom he had once spoken with such deep feeling, had not affected his relations with his mother. But the love he now bore Laura Pavely had. Not long ago Laura had shown Mrs. Tropenell one of Oliver's letters, and though there was really very little in it, she had been oddly nervous and queer in her manner, hardly giving the older woman time to read it through before she had taken it back out of her hand.

Laura had become more human since her husband's death; it was as if a constricting band had been loosened about her heart. Even so, Oliver's mother often wondered sorely whether Laura would ever welcome Oliver in any character save that of a devoted, discreet, and selfless friend. She doubted it. And yet, when he had written and suggested coming back now, instead of waiting till Christmas, she had not said a word to stop him. And the moment she had heard that he had reached England, and that he was to be here late on this very afternoon, she had sent a note to The Chase and asked Laura to share their first meal.

One thing had made a great difference to Mrs. Tropenell's life during the last few months. That was the constant, familiar presence of Lord St. Amant. Now that he was Lord Lieutenant of the county, he was far more at Knowlton Abbey than he had been for some years, and somehow—neither could have told you why—they had become even closer friends than they had been before.

It was well understood that any supplicant who had Mrs. Tropenell on his side could count on Lord St. Amant's help and goodwill. Though she was of course quite unaware of it, there were again rumours through the whole of the country-side that soon the mistress of Freshley Manor would become Lady St. Amant, and that then the Abbey would be opened as that great house had not been for close on forty years.

And now, to-night, Mrs. Tropenell suddenly remembered that Lord St. Amant was coming to dinner—she had forgotten it in the excitement of Oliver's return. But she told herself, with a kind of eagerness, that her old friend's presence might, after all, make things easier for them all! It is always easier to manage a party of four people than of three. Also, it made less marked the fact of Laura's presence on this, the first evening, of Oliver's return home.

Mrs. Tropenell had not been able to discover from her son's manner whether he was glad or sorry Laura was coming to-night. And sitting there, waiting for her guests, she anxiously debated within herself whether Oliver would have preferred to see Laura for the first time alone. Of course he could have offered to go and fetch her; but he had not availed himself of that excuse, and his mother knew that she would be present at their meeting.

The door opened, quietly, and as had been the case a year ago, Mrs. Tropenell saw her beautiful visitor before Laura knew that there was any one in the darkened room.

Once more Mrs. Tropenell had a curious feeling as if time had slipped back, and that everything was happening over again. The only difference was that Laura to-night was all in black, with no admixture of white. Still, by an odd coincidence the gown she was wearing was made exactly as had been that other gown last year, and through the thin black folds of chiffon her lovely white arms shone palely, revealingly....

And then, as her guest came into the circle of light, Mrs. Tropenell realised with a feeling almost of shock that Laura was very much changed. She no longer had the sad, strained, rather severe look on her face which had been there last year. She looked younger, instead of older, and there was an expression of half-eager, half-shrinking expectation on her face—to-night.

"Aunt Letty? How good of you to ask me——" But her voice sank away into silence as the sound of quick footsteps were heard hastening across the hall.