Mrs. Lancaster's face for a moment was a study.
"Do you know whom he is in love with now?" she said presently.
"Yes; with you."
"No--not with me; with you." She put her hand on Lois's cheek caressingly, and gazed into her eyes.
The girl's eyes sank into her lap. Her face, which had been growing white and pink by turns, suddenly flamed.
"Mrs. Lancaster, I believe I--" she began in low tones. She raised her eyes, and they met for a moment Mrs. Lancaster's. Something in their depths, some look of sympathy, of almost maternal kindness, struck her, passed through to her long-stilled heart. With a little cry she threw herself into the other's arms and buried her burning face in her lap.
The expression on the face of the young widow changed. She glanced down for a moment at the little head in her lap, then bending down, she buried her face in the brown tresses, and drew her form close to her heart.
In a moment the young girl was pouring out her soul to her as if she had been her daughter.
The expression in Alice Lancaster's eyes was softer than it had been for a long time, for it was the light of self-sacrifice that shone in them.
"You have your happiness in your hands," she said tenderly.