‘Why are you looking at him in that way?’ exclaimed Alma.  ’You’ll frighten him.’

‘How did I look?’

‘As if you saw something dreadful.’

Harvey laughed, and ran his fingers through the soft curls, and bade himself be of good heart.  Had he not thrown scorn upon people who make a ‘fuss’ about their children.  Had he not despised and detested chatter about babies?  To his old self what a simpleton would he have seemed!

On the morrow Mrs. Frothingham took her departure; leaving it, as usual, uncertain when she would come again, but pleasantly assured that it could not be very long.  She thought Harvey the best of husbands; he and Alma, the happiest of married folk.  In secret, no doubt, she sadly envied them.  If her own lot had fallen in such tranquil places!

Two more days, and Alma received a reply to her invitation.  Yes, Mrs Abbott would come, and be with them for a week; longer she could not.  Her letter was amiable and well-worded as Alma’s own.  Harvey felt a great relief, and it pleased him not a little to see his wife’s unfeigned satisfaction.  This was Monday; the visitor promised to arrive on Tuesday evening.

‘Of course you’ll drive over with me to meet her,’ said Harvey.

’I think not.  I dislike making acquaintance at railway stations.  If it should rain, you’ll have to have a covered carriage, and imagine us three shut up together!’

Alma laughed gaily at the idea.  Harvey, though at a loss to interpret her merriment, answered it with a smile, and said no more.  Happily, the weather was settled; the sun shone gallantly each morning; and on Tuesday afternoon Harvey drove the seven miles, up hill and down, between hedges of gorse and woods of larch, to the little market-town where Mary Abbott would alight after her long journey.

CHAPTER 2

Half an hour after sunset Alma heard the approach of wheels.  She had long been ready to receive her visitor, and when the horse stopped, she stood by the open door of the sitting-room, commanding her nervousness, resolute to make an impression of grace and dignity.  It would have eased her mind had she been able to form some idea of Mrs. Abbott’s personal appearance; Harvey had never dropped a hint on the subject, and she could not bring herself to question him.  The bell rang; Ruth hastened to answer it; Harvey’s voice sounded.

’It turns chilly after the warm sunshine.  I’m afraid we ought to have had a covered carriage.’

‘Then I should have seen nothing,’ was replied in softer tones.  ’The drive was most enjoyable.’

There came into the lamplight a rather tall figure in plain, serviceable travelling-costume.  Alma discerned a face which gave her a shock of surprise, so unlike was it to anything she had imagined; the features regular and of intelligent expression, but so thin, pallid, worn, that they seemed to belong to a woman of nearly forty, weighted by years of extreme suffering.  The demeanour which Alma had studiously prepared underwent an immediate change; she stepped forward with an air of frank kindliness, of cordial hospitality.