CHAPTER XXV
ACCOUNT RENDERED
Mildred found her younger daughter consuming biscuits and lemonade in the drawing-room, thrilled to the soul by her romantic evening and fairly bubbling with confidences.
The marvellous voyage was described in detail.
‘And what did you and Captain Conway talk about, dear?’ she asked.
‘Oh, quite a lot of things. He’s had an awfully interesting life, but rather a sad one, I’m afraid. By the way, he gave me a message for you, Mother.’
‘What is it, dear?’
‘He’s very sorry, but he can’t come to lunch to-morrow. He has to go to London. Isn’t it a shame? He said he might even be going abroad.’
‘Alone?’ asked Mildred quickly.
‘I don’t know: he didn’t say. He’s had some news, though.’
‘From—where?’
‘I’m not sure. But it wasn’t bad news. I asked him that, particularly.’
‘Just sudden?’ suggested Mildred.
‘That’s exactly what he said.’
Mildred gazed at her daughter’s flushed and eager face, pondering certain matters in her heart. She felt unaccountably at peace. Something very unexpected and momentous had occurred in her relations with her husband—and instinct told her that Molly held the key.
‘Come into the garden, dear,’ she said. ‘It’s cooler there—and darker.’
Molly slipped her arm confidingly into her mother’s, and they strolled out upon the lawn.
‘You haven’t told me, Littlest,’ said Mildred presently, ‘what sort of things you and Captain Conway talked about.’
‘I did most of the talking, I think,’ replied Molly apologetically. ‘But he told me some things about his early life, and his friendship with Father. He seemed to know him very well. Then I told him The Legend.’ Molly, conscious that her mother’s arm had stiffened within her own, looked up. ‘There was no harm in telling him, was there?’
‘What did he say when you told him?’
Molly considered.
‘He said nothing for a while,’ she replied. ‘Then he said he thought it must be rather a splendid thing for a man to be remembered by his children in that way. I think that was all. After that he said he must go, and we said good-night.... I say, Mother?’
‘Yes, dear.’
‘I kissed him when we said good-night. I told him first about telling you, and he said he didn’t think you’d be angry. Are you?’
‘No, dear, I’m not angry.’
‘He has a daughter about my age. Did you know?’
‘Yes, dear, I knew. Hark! What’s that?’ Confused sounds were audible upon the river.
‘I expect it’s the end of the fireworks,’ said Molly, running ahead; ‘but I’ll go and see.’
Mildred stopped short, trembling violently.
‘Molly, don’t go!’ she cried suddenly. ‘Come back, dear!’
Molly obediently retraced her footsteps.
‘All right, Mother,’ she said. ‘Why, what’s the matter? You’re all cold and shaky. Take my arm. Lean on me—hard!’
‘I’m all right, dear; I’m feeling a little chilly, that’s all. Run and get me a wrap, will you?’
Molly raced away, intent upon first aid. The moment she was gone, Mildred thrust her way through the laurels, and ran to the towpath, emerging exactly opposite the end of Abbot’s Island—just in time to see a miracle happen, and a lie nearly sixteen years old come true.