These two pieces of information left the old lady gaping and, for the moment, at a loss.
'To-morrow afternoon? It is in the mornings that he has now elected to come.' She had seized, at all events, the happy implication.
'Well, I'm afraid he didn't find his plan succeeded. He didn't find you more cheerful when you were being read to, though he did find you most awfully amusing and witty.'
'Witty? He found me witty? Tant mieux!' The old lady, though aware of a change of fortune, spoke bitterly. 'He did not find me changed, that is certain. And why should he? I see Marthe day after day, month after month. I have no need to see more of her. It was him I wanted to see. And he knows it!'
'Well, it's all right now,' said Jill soothingly, though she was a little taken aback.
'Ah; is it indeed all right?' said the old lady. 'So you may say; and we shall see.—And what had Marthe to do with you that you came up together?' she added with a change of tone.
Jill considered her for a moment. Would one be able to go on being sorry for her, she wondered. This might be but the fretfulness of a sulky, froward child; but it might be something more unpleasant. There was a hint of peremptoriness in her question that she did not at all relish.
'Mademoiselle Ludérac came to see me,' she said, looking very gravely at her. 'She came to tell me the story of her life. She wanted me to know.'
