From that moment she grew merry and talked without
pre-occupation.
After lunch she wrote a short letter, and herself took it to the
post. Mrs. Hannaford was lying on the sofa, with eyes closed, but
not in sleep; her forehead and lips betraying the restless thoughts
which beset her now as always. On returning, Irene took a chair, as
if to read; but she gave only an absent glance at the paper in her
hands, and smiled to herself in musing.
"I'm sure those thoughts are worth far more than a penny," fell from
the lady on the couch, who had observed her for a moment.
"I may as well tell you them," was the gently toned reply, as Irene
bent forward. "I have just done something decisive."
Mrs. Hannaford raised herself, a sudden anxiety in her features; she
waited.
"You guess, aunt? Yes, that's it, I have written to Mr. Jacks."
"To--to----?"
"To answer an ultimatum. In the right way, I hope; any way, it's
done."
"You have accepted him?"
"Even so."
Mrs. Hannaford tried to smile, but could not smooth away the
uneasiness which had come into her look. She spoke a few of the
natural words, and in doing so looked at the clock.
"There is something I have forgotten," she said, starting to her
feet hurriedly. "You reminded me of it--speaking of a letter; I
must send a telegram at once--indeed I must. No, no, I will go
myself, dear. I had rather!"
She hastened away.
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