“Do you know,” he said, “I sometimes think you and dad have been most awfully kind to me.”
Edith’s quivering lips smiled, and her eyes shone as they had done ten years ago through happy tears as she stood to welcome Horace’s little son.
“Oh, Leslie, Leslie!” she murmured.
He was not a demonstrative young man, so he kicked at a footstool, and gave rather a foolish laugh.
“Well, it’ll all be different now,” he said. “Anastasia is most awfully keen on my being nice to you and dad. She slanged me fearfully for not living at home--pitched into me right and left.”
“Did she?” said Edith thoughtfully. “I wonder why?”
“Oh, she’s so awfully clever and generous, you know.” The boy went on: “She said she was sure I’d been misunderstanding you all along, and that the least I could do was to make it up to you now.”
Edith suddenly rose to her feet, then she sat down again, but her hands trembled, and there was a look of surprise in her eyes.
“Have you,” she asked, “a picture of her to show me, Leslie?”
The boy laughed shamefacedly.