Margery had always been accustomed to open her heart to her mother; but of this new happiness she could not speak even to her. Yet she thought that Mrs. Austin knew of it, and sympathized with and blessed her child in the unselfish way that true mothers show when they live their girlish days over again in those of their daughters.
When Margery went to rest that night she thought that her mother's arms had never before held her with such yearning love, or her kiss been so tender. The girl, with quick intuition, divined the reason. What if her mother were looking into the future, and dreading the thought of a possible parting? Wealth could do much, but when a girl took upon her such solemn new duties in another home the place in the old one must be vacated.
Mrs. Austin was so looking at possibilities, but while thinking of the trial it would be for her to part with Margery, she placed her child's happiness first of all, and would have rejoiced in her joy. On the following day Clare returned to Monks Lea. She was looking paler than usual, and there was an anxious, preoccupied expression on her face that no one had noticed there before. It passed away during the evening; but the girl was very quiet, and retired early, as many guests were expected on Christmas Eve, and she wished to be ready to help in entertaining them.
"I must have a good night's rest beforehand," she said, "or I shall be fit for nothing to-morrow. Christmas Eve is the most important anniversary in my life, for on it, eleven years ago, I came to this dear mother, sister and home."
Clare laid her head on Mrs. Austin's shoulder to be caressed; she kissed Margery and clasped her closely, as if she had forgotten the presence of Mrs. Anstruther and her son, though it was to the lady she had spoken of her first coming. Then she turned suddenly to Mrs. Anstruther, and lifted up her face to be kissed, saying—
"I know you are dear mamma's friend, so I hope you will adopt me as one of her children."
Lastly she extended her white hand to the captain, flashed a glance from her wonderful eyes, and was gone.
And Frank Anstruther, who had been urging Margery to sing for him before this little scene took place, remained in a dreamy state for some moments, replied to a remark of his mother's in an irrelevant fashion, and would have forgotten all about the song he had asked for, if Miss Austin had not recalled him to himself by beginning it.
He listened—no one could help it when Margery sang—thanked her, and mentally reproaching himself for his momentary abstraction, asked for more music.
Margery sang a second time, and then she spoke with pleasure of Clare's home-coming.