“Ah!” She spoke quietly, but with a queer monotony of tone that struck unpleasantly on the ear. “All my old friends. I hardly expected this.”
“You have come back.”
“Yes, John, as you so keenly observe, I have come back.”
“To stay?”
“For the present, yes.”
“I knew that you would come.”
“Oh, yes, no doubt. You looked for me to return in rags and repentance. That naturally would be your idea of a proper retribution. Well, I am here, but I came in neither rags nor repentance. I do not even come in fear. I came to claim what is mine by right.” She stepped forward very slowly and sat in the same little chair she had always chosen. John noticed how languid were all her movements; the Doctor saw more, and knew now the reason of her return. He would have spoken, but he heard her father’s step in the hall, and for one of the few times in his life he lost his head. He tried to call out, to warn him, in some way to prepare him for the shock, but he could not; he seemed for a moment to have lost the power of speech, of movement, and before he could recover himself Dr. Barnhelm came into the room.
“I could not sleep, Paul,” he began; “I tried, but——” Then he saw her. She sat in the chair looking at him with no trace of softening on her face, no shame, just a half smile of amusement. Maria rose from her knees and stepped toward him, her arms held out as if to offer him protection. The two men stepped forward, watching his face for the sign of love and forgiveness they both hoped to see there. It did not come. He paused for just a moment, then spoke very quietly, with extreme politeness.
“I had not expected you—quite yet.”
“No?” She seemed quite as calm, quite as formal as he was himself.