Her husband showed his big white teeth in a most amused smile. "What did you expect? You forget that twelve years have passed since you saw him—and you have seen his photographs. Why are you surprised?"
"I forgot," she said, and her head sank on her breast, "but hush! he is speaking."
Her lips parted, she leaned forward, her head on one side so that one of her delicate ears would be nearer the boy's lips.
Then she sank back into her husband's arms, and burst into tears. Most unfortunately our dear lad that I could have told her, if I had been able to speak, was in this wood solely on the mother quest, had in his dreams called out the name of the old servant who had been a mother to him when this young thing had run away.
"Margie!" he had said quite clearly. "Margie! I want you."
Poor little woman! Her husband could not comfort her.
"He prefers my understudy," she said mournfully, and she wrapped her veil round her head.
Her husband made a gesture of despair. "Ranna, I wish you were not such a sensitive plant. Your brother has told you that the boy will be wild with delight when he sees you."
I was sorry for the lovely suffering woman, who reminded me of the White Phantom, and going very, very cautiously toward her I tried to look my sympathy.
"Pony," she whispered huskily, "Pony with the deep brown eyes, 'The thorns which I have reaped are of the tree I planted, they have torn me and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.'"