Rotha did not stir, and he came up to them, bent down by the side of the chair and took Mrs. Carpenter's hand. If he put the usual question, Mrs. Carpenter did not answer it; her eyes met his silently. There was a power of grateful love and also of grave foreboding in her quiet face; one of those looks which from an habitually self-contained spirit come with so much power on any one capable of understanding them. The young man's eyes fell from her to Rotha; the two faces were very near each other; and for the first time Rotha's defiance gave place to a little bit of liking. She had not seen her mother's look; but she had watched Mr. Digby's eyes as they answered it, in their ear nest, intent expression, and then as the eyes came to her she felt the warm ray of kindness and sympathy which beamed from them. A moment it was, but Rotha was Mr. Digby's opponent no more from that time.
"You seem to be having a pleasant rest," he remarked in his usual calm way. "I hope you have got all your work done for me?"
"I never do rest till my work is done," said the girl.
"That is a very good plan. Will you prove the fact on the present occasion?"
Rotha unwillingly left her place.
"Mr. Digby, what sort of a chair is this?"
"A spring chair."
"It is a very good thing."
"I am glad it meets your approbation."
"It meets mother's too. Do you see how she rests in it?"