Mrs. Caxton brought her hand tenderly down the side of the smooth cheek before her, and her eyes grew somewhat misty. But that was a rare occurrence, and the exhibition of it immediately dismissed. She kissed Eleanor and returned to her ordinary manner.
"Talking about stranded lives," she said; "to take another subject, you must forgive me for that one, dear—I think of Mr. Rhys very often."
"His life is not stranded," said Eleanor; "it is under full sail."
"He is alone, though."
"I do not believe he feels alone, aunt Caxton."
"I do not know," said Mrs. Caxton. "A man of a sensitive nature must feel, I should think, in his circumstances, that he has put an immense distance between himself and all whom he loves."
"But I thought he had almost no family relations left?"
"Did it never occur to you," said Mrs. Caxton, "when you used to see him here, that there was somebody, somewhere, who had a piece of his heart?"
"No, ma'am,—never!" Eleanor said with some energy. "I never thought he seemed like it."
"I did not know anything about it," Mrs. Caxton went on slowly, "until a little while before he went away—some time after you were here. Then I learned that it was the truth."