“Yes!—­it is awful!  That horrid veronal!  Such a dangerous drug!  It appears she was accustomed to take it for sleep—­and unfortunately she took an over-dose.  How terrible for Lord Blythe!”

Innocent sat down, trembling.  Her gaze involuntarily wandered to the portrait of Pierce Armitage—­the lover of the dead woman, and her father!  The handsome face with its dreamy yet proud eyes appeared conscious of her intense regard—­she looked and looked, and longed to speak—­to tell Miss Leigh all—­but something held her silent.  She had her own secret now—­and it restrained her from disclosing the secrets of others.  Nor could she realise that it was her mother—­actually her own mother—­who had been taken so suddenly and tragically from the world.  The news barely affected her—­nor was this surprising, seeing that she had never entirely grasped the fact of her mother’s personality or existence at all.  She had felt no emotion concerning her, save of repulsion and dislike.  Her unexpected figure had appeared on the scene like a strange vision, and now had vanished from it as strangely.  Innocent was in very truth “motherless”—­but so she had always been—­for a mother who deserts her child is worse than a mother dead.  Yet it was some few minutes before she could control herself sufficiently to speak or look calmly—­and her eyes were downcast as Miss Leigh came up to the tea-table, newspaper in hand, to discuss the tragic incident.

“She was a very brilliant woman in society,” said the gentle old lady, then—­“You did not know her, of course, and you could not judge of her by seeing her just one evening.  But I remember the time when she was much talked of as ‘the beautiful Maude Osborne’ —­she was a very lively, wilful girl, and she had been rather neglected by her parents, who left her in England in charge of some friends while they were in India.  I think she ran rather wild at that time.  There was some talk of her having gone off secretly somewhere with a lover—­but I never believed the story.  It was a silly scandal—­and of course it stopped directly she married Lord Blythe.  He gave her a splendid position,—­and he was devoted to her—­poor man!”

“Yes?” murmured Innocent, mechanically.  She did not know what to say.

“If she had been blessed with children—­or even one child,” went on Miss Leigh—­“I think it would have been better for her.  I am sure she would have been happier!  He would, I feel certain!”

“No doubt!” the girl answered in the same quiet tone.

“My dear, you look very pale!” said Miss Leigh, with some anxiety —­“Have you been working too hard?”

She smiled.

“That would be impossible!” she answered.  “I could not work too hard—­it is such happiness to work—­one forgets!—­yes—­one forgets all that one does not wish to remember!”