Tears came into her
eyes--brimmed--overflowed--in silence. Her lips smiled. Rachel Dunstable
bent over her in bewilderment.
"To have a son," murmured Doris under her breath, "and then to see him
ruined like this! No love for him!--no children--no grandchildren for
oneself, when one is old--"
Her voice died away.
"'To have a son'?" repeated Lady Dunstable, wondering--"but you have
none!"
Doris said nothing. Only she put up her hand feebly, and wiped away the
tears--still smiling. After which she shut her eyes.
Lady Dunstable gasped. Then the long, sallow face flushed deeply. She
walked over to a sofa on the other side of the room, arranged the
pillows on it, and came back to Doris.
"Will you, please, let me put you on that sofa? You oughtn't to have had
this long journey. Of course you will stay here--and Miss Wigram too. It
seems--I shall owe you a great deal--and I could not have expected
you--to think about me--at all. I can do rude things. But I can also--be
sorry for my sins!"
Doris heard an awkward and rather tremulous laugh.
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