She stood in a flushed bewilderment, staring at the lady who had addressed her, a troubled consciousness possessing itself of her face and manner more and more plainly with every moment.
Julie asked herself, hurriedly: "How much does she know? What has she heard?" But aloud she gently said: "I thought you must have heard of me. Lord Uredale told me he had written--his father wished it--to Lady Blanche. Your mother and mine were sisters."
The girl shyly withdrew her eyes.
"Yes, mother told me."
There was a moment's silence. The mingled fear and recklessness which had accompanied Julie's action disappeared from her mind. In the girl's manner there was neither jealousy nor hatred, only a young shrinking and reserve.
"May I walk with you a little?"
"Please do. Are you staying at Montreux?"
"No; we are at Charnex--and you?"
"We came up two days ago to a little pension at Brent. I wanted to be among the fields, now the narcissuses are out. If it were warm weather we should stay, but mother is afraid of the cold for me. I have been ill."
"I heard that," said Julie, in a voice gravely kind and winning. "That was why your mother could not come home."