She was little changed; something sterner, something more robust, but it was my godmother, Mrs. Bretton.
"How was I found, madam?"
"My son shall tell you by and by," said she. "I am told you are an English teacher in a foreign school here."
Before evening I was downstairs, and seated in a corner, when Graham arrived home, and entered with the question: "How is your patient, mamma?"
At Mrs. Bretton's invitation, I came forward to speak for myself where he stood at the hearth, a figure justifying his mother's pride.
"Much better," I said calmly; "much better, I thank you Dr. John."
For this tall young man, this host of mine, was Dr. John, and I had been aware of his identity for some time.
Ere we had sat ten minutes, I caught the eye of Mrs. Bretton fixed steadily on me, and at last she asked, "Tell me, Graham, of whom does this young lady remind you."
"Dr. John has had so much to do and think of," said I, seeing how it must end, "that it never occurred to me as possible that he should recognise Lucy Snowe."
"Lucy Snowe! I thought so! I knew it!" cried Mrs. Bretton, as she stepped across the hearth and kissed me. And I wondered if Mrs. Bretton knew at whose feet her idolised son had laid his homage.