She sighed; but Mary spoke cheerfully.
"We must let all the 'ifs' alone, Alice," she said. "It is better to leave 'ifs' and 'might-have-beens' lying by the wayside if we want to get on upon our journey. I know how prone we are to stop, and pick up useless regrets; it has been an old folly of my own."
They had tea together, with the mignonette on the table between them. Miss de Vigny said it was like a festival, but she thought Alice looking tired and worn.
"I don't think you could have toiled on much longer," she remarked. "It has been a weary time, my child."
"You have brightened it," said Alice gratefully. "Everybody else has forgotten me, and you know I wished to be forgotten."
"Here and there one remembers you," said Mary, looking at her with observant eyes. "Only yesterday, in this very street, I met someone who asked what had become of you."
"I hope you did not tell!" Alice cried.
"I told very little. I merely said that you were living, and working for yourself. It was Mr. Cardigan who asked for you."
Alice's mouth took a scornful curve.
"I do not like him," said she. "I detest rich men."