“You were always everything that is good and kind,” said Sir Thomas. “I was talking to his dear little daughter last night. She reminds me very much of Waring, Lady Markham.”
“That is odd; for everybody tells me—and indeed I can see it myself—that she is like me.”
“She is very like you; still, she reminds me of her father more than I can say. I do think we have in her the instrument—the very instrument that is wanted. If he is ever to be brought back again——”
“Which I doubt,” she said, shaking her head.
“Don’t let us doubt. With perseverance, everything is to be hoped; and here we have in our very hands what I have always looked for—some one devoted to him and very fond of you.”
“Is she very fond of me?” said Lady Markham. Her face softened—a little moisture crept into her eyes. “Ah, Sir Thomas, I wonder if that is true. She was very much moved by the idea of her mother—a relation she had never known. She expected I don’t know what, but more, I am sure, than she has found in me. Oh, don’t say anything. I am scarcely surprised; I am not at all displeased. To come with your heart full of an ideal, and to find an ordinary woman—a woman in Society!” The moisture enlarged in Lady Markham’s eyes—not tears, but yet a liquid mist that gave them pathos. She shook her head, looking at him with a smile.
“We need not argue the question,” said Sir Thomas, “for I know she is very fond of you. You should have heard her stop me when she thought I was going to criticise you. Of course, had she known me better she would have known how impossible that was.”
Lady Markham did not say “Dear Sir Thomas!” as she had said “Dear boy!” but her look was the same as that which she had turned upon Claude. She was in no doubt as to what his account of her would be.
“She can persuade him, if anybody can,” he said. “I think I shall go and see him as soon as I can get away—if you do not object. To bring our dear Waring back, to see you two together again, who have always been the objects of my warmest admiration——”
“You are too kind. You have always had a higher opinion of me than I deserve,” she said. “One can only be grateful. One cannot try to persuade you that you are mistaken. As for my—husband”—there was the slightest momentary pause before she said the name—“I fear you will never get him to think so well of me as you do. It is a great misfortune; but still it sometimes happens that other people think more of a woman than—her very own.”