“Of course not, my child. It’s the most perfect thing that could have happened.”
“Mother,” asked the girl, looking up at her whimsically, “when are we ever going to quarrel, you and I?”
“Never, I hope.”
“Isn’t it rather unhealthy never to quarrel? Hal and I do, frequently, and I’m glad of it.”
“You won’t think that way when you are my age.”
“Maman, are you very miserable about Uncle Sterling?”
Mathilda’s reply was preceded by a short pause and a quick glance.
“How did you know that?” she asked.
“I have ears and eyes—and can put things together, you know,” laughed Moira. Then she added, more gravely, “I really don’t think many people know. When Selden hinted about it I denied the story flatly—for his benefit.”
“Why deny the truth?” It was one of Mathilda’s traits to be able to say things the implications of which were unpleasant to her.