The baronet was out, and Lady Trueheart was shut up with her maid and a headache. Molly went at once to Miss Trueheart’s boudoir and happily found her alone.
“Now is my chance!” thought the lovely young matron.
She brought the conversation cleverly around to Lord Westerly, talked of his manly worth, his good looks, his ample fortune: then she startled her friend by crying out, abruptly:
“Oh, Miss Trueheart, why don’t you marry this good man and put him out of his pain?”
No one had ever arraigned Madelon Trueheart like this before, and at first she was a little constrained and stately in her answers.
“I have told Lord Westerly long ago that it was useless waiting for me, and that he would do better to love some woman who was free to leave her mother and marry.”
“But, dear Miss Trueheart, daughters do leave their mothers and marry,” remonstrated Molly.
“I shall never leave mine!” said Miss Trueheart, firmly.
“She has her husband, even if you should leave her, and he ought to be sufficient comfort if she lost all else!”
“But he is not, Mrs. Laurens, for he needs me almost as much as she does. My father, although he seems so cold and cross and sarcastic is in reality almost near being broken-hearted as my mother. But, dear Mrs. Laurens, how much surprised you look. Has no one told you of our trouble?”