dismissal.

{93}

The door closed on the two women, and Delia signed to Charlotte to take the armchair opposite to her own.

“Not so near the fire,” Miss Lovell answered. She chose a straight-backed seat, and sat down with folded hands. Delia’s eyes rested absently on the thin ringless fingers: she wondered why Charlotte never wore her mother’s jewels.

“I overheard what you were saying to Tina, Delia. You were scolding her because she called me an old maid.”

It was Delia’s turn to colour. “I scolded her for being disrespectful, dear; if you heard what I said you can’t think that I was too severe.”

“Not too severe: no. I’ve never thought{94} you too severe with Tina; on the contrary.”

{94}

“You think I spoil her?”

“Sometimes.”

Delia felt an unreasoning resentment. “What was it I said that you object to?”

Charlotte returned her glance steadily. “I would rather she thought me an old maid than—”

“Oh—” Delia murmured. With one of her quick leaps of intuition she had entered into the other’s soul, and once more measured its shuddering loneliness.

“What else,” Charlotte inexorably pursued, “can she possibly be allowed to think me—ever?”

“I see ... I see ...” the widow faltered.

“A ridiculous narrow-minded old maid—nothing else,” Charlotte Lovell insisted,{95} getting to her feet, “or I shall never feel safe with her.”

{95}

“Goodnight, my dear,” Delia said compassionately. There were moments when she almost hated Charlotte for being Tina’s mother, and others, such as this, when her heart was wrung by the tragic spectacle of that unavowed bond.

Charlotte seemed to have divined her thought.

“Oh, but don’t pity me! She’s mine,” she murmured, going.{96}

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