The Twickenham Peerage Part 32

She went into the parlour, making it look like a different room. I was ashamed of myself, but I couldn't take my eyes from off her.

'Have you had any news of your husband?'

'No, miss; that I haven't.'

'Are these your children?'

'Yes, miss, they are.'

'But you're quite a child.'

'I'm twenty-three.'

'Twenty-three! You don't look twenty. How is it that you manage to look so young?' She sat down by the table. 'What is your little boy's name?'

'Jimmy.'

'Jimmy? Why do you call him that?'

'His father's name is James.'

'James? Hasn't he another name?'

'I've never heard him speak of it.'

'What pretty children they are--and how beautifully you keep them!'

Her words made me tingle; because, although I say it, there are no children round these parts who are kept like mine. She sat staring at Jimmy; and he didn't seem a bit afraid.

'Come here,' she said. He went, and she put him on her knee. 'He's like his father.'

'That's what I say, miss.'

'He has his father's eyes.'

Which was a fact. Though how she knew it was is more than I could say.

Pollie, who always follows Jimmy, had placed herself beside her brother.

'The girl's like you; though she's not so pretty as her mother.'

'Oh, miss, you shouldn't talk like that; especially before the children. Besides, I'm not pretty now. I know I was once, because they used to tell me so. But now I'm old.'

'Old? Oh, yes, you're very old. I wish I was as young, and half as pretty.'

'Oh, miss.' I stammered--through being that eager to say something I knew I didn't ought to--'if you'll excuse me for making so free, you're the most beautiful lady I ever saw.'

She laughed right out.

'Then you've never seen a looking-gla.s.s, because I a.s.sure you I was never half so pretty as you are at this minute. It seems odd for two women to be paying each other compliments, but yours is the kind of face which is seen only once in a generation. Tell me--how did you meet your husband?'

I told her the whole story. She listened, as it seemed to me, with wonder.

'How strange! And you married him, knowing nothing about him except what he told you.'

'He told me nothing.'

'But you must have known something of his previous history--what he'd been, and what he'd done.'

'I never thought to ask.'

'But he's told you since.'

'He hasn't; not a word. He never talks of himself at all.'

'But, my child, you must know something of him at this time of day.

Where are his parents--his relations?'

'I don't think he has any. I've never met them, and he's never spoken of them to me. I've heard him say that his mother died before his father, and that his father and he didn't get on.'

'They did not.' I wondered how she knew. 'By the way, what is your Christian name?'

'Mary, miss.'

'Mary? A good old-fashioned name. I love it. You look sweet and pure enough even to be a Mary.' I wished she wouldn't talk like that; she made me tingle. 'I am Edith Desmond. Have you ever heard the name?'

'Not that I remember, miss; and I don't think I should have forgotten if I had.'

'I am going to ask you a strange question; especially coming from a stranger. But I want you to tell me; do you love your husband?'

'Love him!' I felt a catching of my breath. The idea of her asking if I loved him! 'There's nothing I wouldn't do for love of him. He's my man.'

'Your man? That's another good old-fashioned word. Your man!' She seemed to hesitate before she spoke again. 'Have you--have you your husband's photograph?'

'Heaps, miss. He's always having them taken. I think it's something to do with his profession.'

I went to the drawer, and took out a pile. The first she looked at she gave a start. She put her lips together, and a hard look came on her face. She looked older, and not so beautiful as she sat staring at my James's portrait, as if she was looking at a ghost. It was quite a minute before she spoke; and then it was to herself rather than to me.

'It's he. I wonder what it all means.'

The way she'd changed made me half-afraid of her; but I plucked up courage to put a question which was slipping, as it were, off the tip of my tongue.

'Begging your pardon, miss, but--do you know my James?'

'Once I knew him very well. He was--he was a friend of my family.'

My heart gave a jump against my ribs.

'Then he was a gentleman? I always knew he was a gentleman! That makes it all the more wonderful that he should ever have married me.'