Duke had sprung to his feet in the surprise. There was little light but the light from the fire—and it was five years since he had seen her. He came forward, hesitating a little, abashed and reluctant to be kissed. He was now twelve and big of his age, not apt to go through these salutations with strangers. Mary put her hands on his shoulders and held him from her to see him fully. “I can’t believe my eyes: Duke—are you sure you are Duke? You are twice as big as you were the other day. Agnes, I can scarcely believe my eyes.”
Agnes gave Duke a pull by the arm to stop his exclamation. “Yes,” she said, “he has grown very fast.”
“I never saw any child grow so fast,” said Mary in a bewildered tone. “I should scarcely have known the child.” She let him go with something of disappointment in her tone. “I can scarcely believe he is my little Duke,” she said. And then after a pause, there came the question which Agnes had been all this time trembling to hear. Mary recovered herself, putting away this touch of disappointment, and spoke again in the clear assured tones which were new to her sister.
“And who,” she said, “is this other nice little boy?”
Agnes was overcome by the sufferings of this long and agitating day. Her strength was exhausted. She could bear no more. Little Mar had turned round upon his stool and was gazing at the lady. And she with a smile, and the pleased half interest of a benevolent stranger, looked at him, holding out her hand. “Who,” she said, “is this nice little boy?”
Agnes answered, she could not help it, with something more like a scream than an exclamation, “Oh Mary! Oh Mary!” she cried.
“What is the matter?” said Mary, tranquilly. “I ought to know him, perhaps. He is one of Duke’s little playfellows, I suppose. Who are you, my nice little boy?”
CHAPTER XXV.
Lady Frogmore was called to her husband before she had any answer to her question from little Mar. She had asked it with great kindness, with the sweetness of manner which Mary always had with children from the time of her early experiences in the parish with the sturdy little Yorkshire babies—but she had not, to tell the truth, been very deeply interested in the reply. Duke’s little playmate had a certain interest because of Duke, that enormously grown, curiously developed boy, but otherwise—“Good-bye, just now, my little man,” she said, kissing her hand to him. “Lord Frogmore wants me. I shall hear all about it when I come back.” Little Mar crept to the knee of Agnes Hill when Mary went away. He clung to her with a close childish pressure, rubbing his little head against her shoulder. “Why does she call papa Lord Frogmore?” the boy said.
“I don’t know, my dear. She has been gone a long time from home—and there are some things that she has forgotten.”