I suppose it was natural; she was a beautiful woman, full of talent and animation, brilliant and fascinating, only too anxious to please him in every way, laying herself out to captivate him, and he never could endure being alone.

Ah, me! what my childish heart suffered—­of rage, and terror, and pain—­when I saw my mother’s eyes turned wistfully to the door, waiting, watching for him and asking me, in the sweet, low tones, if I knew where he was.  I learned my lesson sharply enough.  The first time she asked me one bright, sunny morning, when she seemed a little better, and had a great desire to go out.

“I wish papa would go with me, Laura,” she said.  “I never enjoy anything without him.  Where is he?”

I had seen him ten minutes before that on the lower terrace with Miss Reinhart, and they were going to the grounds.  He was smoking a cigar; she was looking most fascinating and beautiful in her elegant morning dress and coquettish hat.  Without thinking, I replied, hastily: 

“He is out in the grounds with Miss Reinhart.”

Ah, heaven! shall I ever forget the face turned to mine, so white, so scared, so stricken?

“What did you say, Laura?  Come here; I did not hear you.”

Then, when her trembling hands clutched mine, I knew what I had done quite well.  Patience came round to my mother with a look at me that spoke volumes.

“My lady,” she said, “do pray be calm.  You know how ill even the least emotion makes you, and Miss Laura is so frightened when you are ill!”

The sweet face grew whiter.

“I will remember,” she said.

Then she repeated the question, but my intelligence had grown in the last few minutes.

“Papa is out in the grounds,” I replied, “and I saw him speaking to Miss Reinhart.”

“But,” said my mother, “your papa does not walk out with Miss Reinhart.  Laura, darling, you must think before you speak.”

Now, I knew that Sir Roland went out every day with my governess; more than that, two or three times each day I had seen them; but Patience looked at me with a solemn warning in her face, and I answered, as I kissed her: 

“I will try, darling mother.  Shall I ever speak as plainly and as prettily as you do, I wonder?”

I loved to make little loving, flattering speeches to her, they pleased her so much and brightened her sweet face; but that evening, when I went back to her room, I saw her eyes were swollen with weeping.  I vowed to myself to be careful.

“Where is papa, darling?” she asked, with loving, wistful eyes.  “I have only seen him once to-day.”

“He is still in the dining-room, mamma.”  Then I added, with a guilty, blushing face, for I had left my governess with him, “and you know that I am growing wise enough to understand gentlemen like a nod over the last glass of port.”

“And Miss Reinhart, Laura, where is she?”