Mrs. Eyrecourt joined her daughter at the window.
“Well, my dear, is it clearing up? Shall we take a drive before luncheon?”
She turned to her mother as she answered.
The light of the clearing sky, at once soft and penetrating, fell full on her. Mrs. Eyrecourt, looking at her as usual, suddenly became serious: she studied her daughter’s face with an eager and attentive scrutiny.
“Do you see any extraordinary change in me?” Stella asked, with a faint smile.
Instead of answering, Mrs. Eyrecourt put her arm round Stella with a loving gentleness, entirely at variance with any ordinary expression of her character. The worldly mother’s eyes rested with a lingering tenderness on the daughter’s face. “Stella!” she said softly--and stopped, at a loss for words for the first time in her life.
After a while, she began again. “Yes; I see a change in you,” she whispered--“an interesting change which tells me something. Can you guess what it is?”
Stella’s color rose brightly, and faded again.
She laid her head in silence on her mother’s bosom. Worldly, frivolous, self-interested, Mrs. Eyrecourt’s nature was the nature of a woman--and the one great trial and triumph of a woman’s life, appealing to her as a trial and a triumph soon to come to her own child, touched fibers under the hardened surface of her heart which were still unprofaned. “My poor darling,” she said, “have you told the good news to your husband?”
“He doesn’t care, now, for anything that I can tell him.”
“Nonsense, Stella! You may win him back to you by a word--and do you hesitate to say the word? _I_ shall tell him!”
Stella suddenly drew herself away from her mother’s caressing arm. “If you do,” she cried, “no words can say how inconsiderate and how cruel I shall think you. Promise--on your word of honor--promise you will leave it to me!”
“Will you tell him, yourself--if I leave it to you?”
“Hush, hush! don’t excite yourself, my love; I promise. Give me a kiss. I declare I am agitated myself!” she exclaimed, falling back into her customary manner. “Such a shock to my vanity, Stella--the prospect of becoming a grandmother! I really must ring for Matilda, and take a few drops of red lavender. Be advised by me, my poor dear, and we will turn the priest out of the house yet. When Romayne comes back from his ridiculous Retreat--after his fasting and flagellation, and Heaven knows what besides--_then_ bring him to his senses; then is the time to tell him. Will you think of it?”