On this same spring morning, when Hubert Eldon was taking leave of Wanley, Mrs. Waltham and Letty were talking of a visit Adela was about to pay to Stella in London.  They spoke also of a visitor of their own, or, perhaps, rather of Adela’s, who had been in the house for a fortnight and would return to London on the morrow.  This was Alice Mutimer—­no longer to be called Mrs. Rodman.  Alice had lived with her mother in Wilton Square since her recovery from the illness which for a long time had kept her in ignorance of the double calamity fallen upon her.  It was Adela who at length told her that she had no husband, and that her brother Richard was dead.  Neither disclosure affected her gravely.  The months of mental desolation followed by physical collapse seemed to have exhausted her powers of suffering.  For several days she kept to herself and cried a good deal, but she exhibited no bitter grief.  It soon became evident that she thought but little of the man who had so grossly wronged her; he was quite gone from her heart Even when she was summoned to give evidence against him in court, she did it without much reluctance, yet also without revengeful feeling; her state was one of enfeebled vitality, she was like a child in all the concerns of life.  Rodman went into penal servitude, but it did not distress her, and she never again uttered his name.

Adela thought it would be a kindness to invite her to Belwick and Alice at once accepted the invitation.  Yet she was not at her ease in the house.  She appeared to have forgiven Adela, overcome by the latter’s goodness, but her nature was not of the kind to grow in liberal feeling.  Mrs. Waltham the elder she avoided as much as possible.  Perhaps Letty best succeeded in conciliating her, for Letty was homely and had the children to help her.

‘I wish I had a child,’ Alice said one day when she sat alone with Letty, and assisted in nursery duties.  But at once her cheeks coloured.  ’I suppose you’re ashamed of me for saying that I’m not even a married woman.’

Letty replied, as she well knew how to, very gently and with comfort.

‘I wonder where she goes to when she sets off by herself,’ said Mrs. Waltham this morning.  ‘She seems to object to walk with any of us.’

‘She always comes back in better spirits,’ said Letty.  ’I think the change is doing her good.’

’But she won’t be sorry to leave us, my dear, I can see that.  To be sure it was like Adela to think of having her here, but I scarcely think it would be advisable for the visit to be repeated.  She is not at home with us.  And how can it be expected?  It’s in her blood, of course; she belongs so distinctly to an inferior class.’

‘I am so very sorry for her,’ Letty replied.  ’What dreadful things she has gone through!’

’Dreadful, indeed, my dear; but after all such things don’t happen to ladies.  We must remember that.  It isn’t as if you or Adela had suffered in that way.  That, of course, would be shocking beyond all words.  I can’t think that persons of her class have quite the same feelings.’