“Now drink that, my child,” she said, putting the cup and saucer into her hand.
“Have you had any lunch?”
Madge shook her head.
“Then you must eat a plateful of these excellent biscuits, and you must begin at once.”
She proceeded to drink her own tea, talking about her journey, and the slowness of the trains, till watching the face opposite to her she saw a trace of colour in the cheeks.
“And now what is it, my dear?” she asked very gently, as Mrs. Dakin pushed the cup away from her.
For answer, Madge burst into a flood of hopeless tears.
Anne leant forward and took her hand. “It’s François Fontenelle, isn’t it?” she inquired.
Mrs. Dakin raised her head, her lips parted like a baby’s.
“How did you guess?” she whispered.