“No, dear, they looked too warm for that, and her face! We were, I think, a little frightened at its beauty.”
“We should have come out, but just then I do not think I could have spoken. My husband thought I was not very well and he brought me back—Henry spoils me, Mrs. Fellowes—but to-day I shall never forget Gwen’s look, never!” and her small face got still one shade whiter.
She tried to say something but she only made a little husky noise, she turned to Mrs. Fellowes and tried again.
“You know Gwen,” she said faintly, “do you think she was happy to-day, as a bride should be?”
Mrs. Fellowes looked keenly at her and turned to her husband.
“Mrs. Waring must lie down, she is worn out,” she said.
He made ready the sofa and drew the trembling small creature down on it.
Mr. Waring yielded her up with a disturbed and astonished gaze, and stood aside contemplating events patiently.
“Henry,” she said softly, after resting silently for a minute, “ask Mrs. Fellowes what we want to know—tell her our—our fears.”
He came over and laid his hand on her sunny head, that time seemed to have quite forgotten.
“My dear friends,” he said solemnly, “my wife and I are in some perplexity. The fact is—h’m—we have never, so to speak, known much of our daughter Gwen, she is a difficult person to know. From time to time we have attempted to gain some nearer knowledge of her, but she—ahem—in fact, did not seem inclined to encourage our advances. From her very babyhood,” he went on more fluently, “the girl has interested us very keenly, she has been quite a study to us, but I regret to say we have never arrived at any very definite conclusions about her, we have never quite understood her.”
“Never!” said Mrs. Waring, suddenly bending towards Mrs. Fellowes, with a look very like terror in her face.
“Of course you more than I, dear,” said Mr. Waring, “you have your woman’s instincts to guide you, and they, as a rule, are trustworthy.”
“I have never known Gwen,” said she, with very unusual decision.
“What is your opinion on this matter?” said Mr. Waring, turning to Mr. Fellowes, “you know our daughter.”
It was all cruelly pathetic, his voice, and his face, and his gesture, and the strained hopeless look in his small wife’s eyes.