Mrs. Aytoun was still anxious and pale, but her tremor of agitation was quieted.
“She must be a very kind, good girl, this Anne, Alice.”
Alice breathed more freely—if her mother had been very angry, was her simple reasoning, she would not have spoken so.
“She is very good—very kind, mother—like you, gentler than Mrs. Catherine; but she is not a girl, she is older than—than Lewis.”
Mrs. Aytoun smiled.
“How old is Lewis?”
The simple little heart began to beat with troubled joy.
“He is twenty-one, mother. It was his birthday just a week after I went to the Tower.”
Mrs. Aytoun did not speak for some time.
“Alice,” she said at last, “I must see this Lewis, and consult with James, before I make any decision—in the meantime you will be very patient, will you not?”