I parried Hetty's curious remarks with regard to the telegram, putting
her off at first with vague replies, then speaking decidedly.
"I have had a message from my mother, dear Hetty," I said; "nothing at
all about Jack, nothing that will interest you."
"Oh, of course, Rosamund--" Hetty's pale face flushed vividly. She took
up some knitting she was trying to get through, a sock for Jack, of
course. I saw her poor little fingers trembling. She was the most
sensitive little creature. A touch, a word, sent her into herself. She
felt so unsure of her position, so unsure of everything, except that she
had a great hungry wealth of love to give away to those who would
receive it of her.
As I saw her making these futile, pathetic little attempts to get on
with her knitting, I felt some of the experiences one might feel if one
had set one's foot on a little wild-flower and crushed it. I watched
her timid, downcast eyes for a moment, then I spoke.
"After all, Hetty," I said, "I should not be in the least surprised if
the contents of my mother's telegram interested you amazingly. I don't
see why you shouldn't know. It is a most exciting story. We'll have
tea together, and then I'll tell it to you."
Hetty's little face came quickly out of the shadow in which it had
looked so pathetic. She was all smiles and sunshine once more. She
even laughed with glee when I arranged our evening meal. Her impatience
to know the mystery was absolutely childish, but I was determined not to
be cross with her, nor to blame her in any way again.
After we had finished eating, I drew a chair up to her sofa, and began
my story. I told everything from the beginning--I mean from the time of
my visit to Cousin Geoffrey. Really, Hetty was a most delightful
listener; she was all sympathy, her interest was absorbing, she
interrupted the narrative with no questions, but her beautiful eyes
spoke volumes for her. They expressed wonder, sorrow, joy. I had quite
a pleasant time as I told my little romance. I could not have desired a
prettier sight than Hetty's eyes with the soul looking out of them as
they gazed at me.
What a benefit to the possessor those speaking eyes are! In some cases
I could imagine them to be the best of all good fairies' gifts, for what
can they not do? Wheedle, coax, command, subdue. Hetty was not a
particularly brilliant personage in any way. She was a very loving,
dear, true little creature, but she was neither clever, nor particularly
heroic. Yet with her eyes she could command a kingdom. Now some people
speak of me as clever, and I know I have plenty of presence of mind, but
I can do nothing at all with my eyes.
Well, Hetty heard the story, and then she examined the ring, and then we
had a long consultation over Lady Ursula's visit of the morrow.
"Won't you write and tell her not to come?" said Hetty.
"Oh dear, no," I said, "I am not afraid of Lady Ursula Redmayne,--she
can come if she wishes to."
Hetty sighed.
"You are courageous, Rose," she answered. The next morning my brother's
wife took upon herself to show great anxiety with regard to my wardrobe.
"I want you to look beautiful," she said. "Don't you think you might
wear your hair not quite--not quite so flat on your forehead?"