"Are you--when are you going to write to father and mother?"
"I have written," with unembarrassed evenness of tone. "Mother will be
counting the days."
"Mother!" Rosy breathed, with a soft little gasp. "Mother!" and turned
her face farther away. "What did you tell her?"
Betty moved over to her and stood close at her side. The power of her
personality enveloped the tremulous creature as if it had been a sense
of warmth.
"I told her how beautiful the place was, and how Ughtred adored you--and
how you loved us all, and longed to see New York again."
The relief in the poor little face was so immense that Betty's heart
shook before it. Lady Anstruthers looked up at her with adoring eyes.
"I might have known," she said; "I might have known that--that you would
only say the right thing. You couldn't say the wrong thing, Betty."
Betty bent over her and spoke almost yearningly.
"Whatever happens," she said, "we will take care that mother is not
hurt. She's too kind--she's too good--she's too tender."
"That is what I have remembered," said Lady Anstruthers brokenly. "She
used to hold me on her lap when I was quite grown up. Oh! her soft, warm
arms--her warm shoulder! I have so wanted her.
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