When he had left, and the train had started again, she was very much amused to hear Mr. Stevens say—
"There is a great deal to like in that young man. Have you known him long?"
Margaret answered, and told him the story of his most terrible accident.
"And all this happened before your marriage? Most extraordinary!" he said.
Margaret was annoyed with herself, because she felt herself grow crimson.
When he saw her colour he said, with greater emphasis—
"Most extraordinary!"
Both she and Jean were tired enough when they reached Perth. Margaret, indeed, had a certain mental excitement which prevented her sleeping. With the tenderness of conscience, which amounted to something akin to morbidness, she accused herself of having forgotten because she had allowed herself to be happy.
"Alas!" she thought, "is it possible that I am the same miserable broken woman who cared not even for the light of day a few weeks ago? And now a change of scene, meeting with an old friend, has sent courage through my veins, and made life seem sweet to me again."
But there was no use lamenting over feelings which had gone, and she was too honest with herself to blind herself to the fact of being different. Her grief for her child was there sharp and painful, for a mother cannot forget. But the crushing sense of having done something unworthy had been lifted from her. The tone of gentle respect and sympathy shown her by Sir Albert had swept false theories upon one side. She still said to herself, "I have sinned!" but she no longer said, "Heaven can forgive, but man never can!" and the sharpest sting was gone.