‘No, mamma,’ said Emmy, with a quaver in her voice. She was very quiet and said very little, but in her half-invalid condition she could not help observing a great many things that eluded other people, and many alarms and doubts and suppressed suspicions were in her mind which she could not and would not have put in words. There was something in the semi-darkness and in the abandon in which she had found her mother which encouraged Emmy. She clasped Mrs. Blencarrow’s arm in both of hers, and put her face against her mother’s dress.
‘Oh, mamma,’ she said, ‘if you are troubled about anything, won’t you tell me? Oh, mamma, tell me! I should be less unhappy if I knew.’
‘Oh! I did not mean quite that; but you are unhappy sometimes, and how can I help seeing it? I know your every look, and what you mean when you put your hands together--like that, mamma.’
‘Do you, Emmy?’ The mother took her child into her arms with a strong pressure, as if Emmy’s feeble innocence pressed against her own strong, struggling bosom did her good. The girl felt the quiver in her mother’s arm, which enfolded her, and felt the heavy beating of the heart against which she was pressed, with awe and painful sympathy, but without suspicion. She knew everything without knowing anything in her boundless sympathy and love. But just then the clock upon the mantelpiece tingled out its silvery chime. Five o’clock! Mrs. Blencarrow put Emmy out of her arms with a sudden start. ‘I did not think it was so late. I have to see some one downstairs at five o’clock.’
‘Oh, mamma, wait for some tea; it is just coming.’
‘You are very late,’ said Mrs. Blencarrow to the butler, who came in carrying a lamp, while John followed him with the tray. Tea in the afternoon was a very novel invention, at that time known only in a few houses. ‘Do not be so late another day. I must go, Emmy--it is business; but I shall be back almost directly.’
‘Oh, mamma, I hate business; you say you will be back directly, and you don’t come for hours!’
Mrs. Blencarrow kissed her daughter and smiled at her, patting her on the shoulder.
‘Business, you know, must be attended to,’ she said, ‘though everything else should go to the wall.’
Her face changed as she turned away; she gave a glance as she passed at the face of the man who held open the door for her, and it seemed to Mrs. Blencarrow that there was a gleam of knowledge in it, a suppressed disrespect. She was aware, even while this idea framed itself in her mind, that it was a purely fantastic idea, but the profound self-consciousness in her own soul tinged everything she saw; she hurried downstairs with a sort of reluctant swiftness, a longing to escape and yet an eagerness to go.