‘Yes, she is brighter, gayer, more attractive to everybody than ever I was,’ said Ombra. ‘As if I did not see that—as if I did not feel every hour——’
Mrs. Anderson placed herself behind Ombra’s chair, and drew her child’s head on to her bosom, and kissed her again and again. She was a woman addicted to caresses; but there was meaning in this excess of fondness. ‘My love! my own darling!’ she said; and then, very softly, after an interval, ‘My only one!’
‘Not your only one now,’ said Ombra, with tears rushing to her eyes, and a little indignant movement; ‘you have Kate——’
‘Ombra!’
‘Mamma, I am a little tired—a little—out of temper—I don’t know—what it is; yes, it is temper—I do know——’
‘Ombra, you never had a bad temper. Oh! if you would put a little more confidence in me! Don’t you think I have seen how depressed you have been ever since—ever since——’
‘Since when?’ said Ombra, raising her head, her twilight-face lighting up with a flush and sparkle, half of indignation, half of terror. ‘Do you mean that I have been making a show of—what I felt—letting people see——’
You made no show, darling; but surely it would be strange if I did not see deeper than others. Ombra, listen.’—She put her lips to her daughter’s cheek, and whispered, ‘Since we heard they were coming back. Oh! Ombra, you must try to overcome it, to be as you used to be. You repel him, dear, you thrust him away from you as if you hated him! And they are coming here to-day.’
Ombra’s shadowy cheek coloured deeper and deeper, her eyelashes drooped over it; she shrank from her mother’s eye.
‘Don’t say anything more,’ she said, with passionate deprecation. ‘Don’t! Talking can only make things worse. I am a fool! I am ashamed! I hate myself! It is temper—only temper, mamma!’