"We shall be friends, Margaret." She rose as she spoke, and setting her hands on Margaret's shoulders as she too stood, said: "You are beautiful, child, and you have very good manners. There are things to be desired, the want of which I much regret; otherwise—" She felt as if she had gone far enough. "Were these otherwise, I should have been satisfied." Then she kissed her coldly on the forehead.
Margaret said, "I shall try, Madame, to be a good daughter," and, falling back, courtesied, and left the tall woman to her meditations.
Madame de Courval and Mary Swanwick knew that soon or late what their children had settled they too must discuss. Neither woman desired it, the vicomtesse aware that she might say more than she meant to say, the Quaker matron in equal dread lest things might be said which would make the future difficult. Mary Swanwick usually went with high courage to meet the calamities of life, and just at present it is to be feared that she thus classified the stern puritan dame. But now she would wait no longer, and having so decided on Saturday, she chose Sunday morning, when—and she smiled—the vicomtesse having been to Gloria Dei and she herself to Friends' meeting, both should be in a frame of mind for what she felt might prove a trial of good temper.
Accordingly, having heard the gentle Friend Howell discourse, and bent in silent prayer for patience and charity, she came home and waited until from the window of Schmidt's room she saw the tall, black figure approach.
She went out to the hall and let in Madame de Courval, saying: "I have waited for thee. Wilt thou come into the withdrawing-room? I have that to say which may no longer be delayed."
"I myself had meant to talk with you of this unfortunate matter. It is as well to have it over." So saying she followed her hostess. Both women sat upright in the high-backed chairs, the neat, gray-clad Quaker lady, tranquil and rosy; the black figure of the Huguenot dame, sallow, with grave, unmoved features, a strange contrast.
"I shall be pleased to hear you, Madame Swanwick."
"It is simple. I have long seen that there was a growth of attachment between our children. I did not—I do not approve it."
"Indeed," said Madame de Courval, haughtily. What was this woman to sit in judgment on the Vicomte de Courval?
"I have done my best to keep them apart. I spoke to Margaret, and sent her away again and again as thou knowest. It has been in vain, and now having learned that thou hast accepted a condition of things we do neither of us like, I have thought it well to have speech of thee."