"Thank you for comforting him. I ought not to have left him. I nevah did before, with strangahs." She tried to bid Lady Thryng good-by, but Laura again besought her to stop and have tea.
"Please do. I fairly adore Americans. I want to talk to you; I mean, to hear you talk."
Cassandra had mastered herself at last, and replied quietly: "I don't guess I can stay, thank you. You have been so kind." Then she said to Lady Thryng, "Good-by," and moved away. Laura walked by her side to the carriage.
"I hope you'll come again sometime, and let me know you."
"You are right kind to say that. I shall nevah forget." Then, leaning down from the carriage seat, and looking steadily in Laura's warm, dark eyes, she added: "No, I shall nevah forget. May I kiss you?"
"You sweet thing!" said the girl, impulsively, and, reaching up, they kissed. Cassandra said in her heart, "For David," and was driven away.
Laura found her mother standing where they had left her. She had been deeply stirred by the sight of Cassandra with the child in her arms. Not that beautiful mothers and lovely children were rare in England; but that, except for the children of the poor, no little one like this had been in her own home or so near her in all the years of her widowhood. It was the sight of that strong mother love, overpowering and sweeping all before it, recognizing no lesser call—the secret and holy power that lies in the Christ-mother, for all periods and all peoples—she herself had felt it—and the cry that had burst from Cassandra's lips, "My baby—he is mine." Tears stood in Lady Thryng's eyes, and yet it was such a simple little thing. Mothers and babies? Why, they were everywhere.
"She moved like a tragic queen," said Lady Clara. "What was the matter?"
"Nothing, only her baby had been crying; but wasn't he a love?" said Lady Laura.
"I say! He was a perfect dear!" said one and another.