“Where have you been, son?” she asked, gently.
His face flushed.
“Over at The Oaks, mother. Poor Violet is nearly crushed by her mother’s sudden and awful death.”
He hesitated, checking himself at the expression of suffering which flashed over his mother’s pale face.
“I did not stay long,” he added, swiftly. “I shall call there again this evening. Mother, I wish you were well enough to invite Violet and Mrs. Rutledge and Hilda over here for a time. Violet has never visited Yorke Towers; she has only called occasionally; and—and——”
His voice stammered into silence at the glance from his mother’s calm gray eyes. He had not yet broken to her the news of his engagement to Violet. How was she going to take it?
Mrs. Yorke sighed.
“I fear that I am too ill to entertain anybody,” she returned, slowly. “Yet,” starting slightly, as though a sudden thought had struck her, “perhaps it will be better for me to take your advice. I—I have a reason for—— Son, I believe upon the whole that I will try and arouse myself, and I will send the invitation to the ladies at once. There is no use in their staying at home nursing their sorrow; and we are neighbors and old friends, and, of course, here they will be perfectly at home. There will be no rules of ceremony to follow, and the change will benefit them all, I am sure.”
Low under her breath she was saying softly:
“I will get that girl here, and then I will try and find out if she knows anything of the past, of her mother’s secret and mine. But I will watch Violet well, for there must not be anything serious between her and Leonard.”