"She shrinks from sorrowful associations and painful sights," I thought. But I did not know, when I asked the question, that our poor Edith had been a particular friend of hers.
We stopped the next moment at Mrs. Orton Beg's, and she leant forward to look at the windows, smiling and brightening again.
I helped her out and followed her to the door, which she opened as if she were at home there. She waited for me for a moment in the hall till I put my hat down, and then we went to the drawing room together, and walked in in the same familiar way.
Mrs. Orton Beg was there with another lady, a stout but very comely person, handsomely dressed, who seemed to have just risen to take her leave.
The moment Evadne saw this lady she sprang forward. "Oh, Mother!" she cried, throwing her arms round her neck.
"Evadne—my dear, dear child!" the lady exclaimed, clasping her close and kissing her, and then, holding her off to look at her. "Why, my child, how thin you are, and pale, and weak—"
"Oh, mother—I am so glad! I am so glad!" Evadne cried again, nestling close up to her, and kissing her neck; and then she laid her head on her bosom and burst into hysterical sobs.
I instantly left the room, and Mrs. Orton Beg followed me.
"They have not met since—just after Evadne's marriage," she explained to me. "Evadne offended her father, and there still seems to be no hope of a reconciliation."
"But surely it is cruel to separate mother and child," I exclaimed indignantly. "He has no right to do that."