"My dearest," the other answered gently, "I am old enough to know that, where the human heart is concerned, all things are possible."
"But I can't endure that you should know; that you should—think ill of me."
"You know me very little, Honor, if you can dream of that for a moment. Come and sit down. No need to hold aloof from me now."
Honor submitted to be led to the sofa, and drawn down close beside her friend. The whole thing seemed to have become an incredible nightmare.
"Listen to me, my child," Mrs Conolly began, the inexpressible note of mother-love sounding in her voice. "I want you to realise, once for all, how I regard this matter. I think you know how much I have loved and admired you, and I do so now—more than ever. An overwhelming trouble has come upon you, by no will of your own; and you are evidently going to meet it with a high-minded courage altogether worthy of your father's daughter."
Honor shivered.
"Don't speak of father," she entreated. "Only—now that you understand, tell me—tell me—what must I do?"
The passionate appeal coming from this girl—apt rather to err in the direction of independence—stirred Mrs Jim's big heart to its depths.
"You will abide by my decision?" she asked.
"Yes; I am ready to do anything for—either of them."