“You were right not to let her have him,” he exclaimed hurriedly. Then his face dropped into his hands a moment, and passers-by looked curiously at the old woman, the pretty child, and the handsome man bowed in an attitude of deep dejection.
Little Pet was so grieved at the man’s sorrowful attitude that he went up to him and encircled Norman’s neck with his chubby arms, and inquired tenderly:
“Oo kyin’ tause pretty yady gone?”
The young man caught him in his arms, straining him to his breast, and again gazed eagerly into his lovely face.
“My little darling, what if it were to prove true?” he muttered hoarsely; then, looking around at Mrs. Meade, he asked:
“Do you know where Mrs. Laurens, the mother of poor little Pansy, lives?”
“No, I do not know,” she replied; and a look of bitter disappointment came over his face.
“I have been trying ever since I came home to trace that woman,” he exclaimed. “I remember that just before I went away she was married a second time, and went on a bridal tour with her husband. But I do not know the name of the person she married, nor where she is living now, for she has moved away from where she resided when I went away.”
Was it fate, or only a blind chance, for at that moment there came along the walk a plainly dressed, stooping figure, with a sad, worn face that had once been very pretty, though now faded and forlorn. Norman had seen Pansy’s mother only once, but he recognized her again in this passer-by, and, springing to his feet, exclaimed:
“Mrs. Laurens!”