“If he dies, that poor boy, my brother, his broken heart and early death will lie at his mother’s door!”
CHAPTER XXXII.
“THE SILENCE OF A BROKEN HEART.”
Floy leaned forward and clutched Alva’s arm with icy fingers.
“Oh, for God’s sake, tell me what you mean!” she faltered, imploringly.
“Why, what is it to you, child?” exclaimed Alva, startled out of herself by Floy’s emotion.
“Oh, nothing, nothing; pardon me, Miss Beresford. But I was so sorry for you and for him, for—for you spoke of a broken heart,” sobbed Floy, drawing back in dismay.
Miss Beresford was silent one moment, then she reached out and caressed Floy’s golden head with one jeweled hand, while she answered:
“I am not offended, Floy. You startled me from a painful retrospect, that was all. I did not mean to answer you rudely, dear.”
And loving the girl like a younger sister, perhaps craving her sympathy in this sad hour, she threw reserve to the winds and poured out her brother’s story.