“And you think—­”

“My dear, I am sure.  All put on.  To deceive me.  Although I never am deceived.  So I waited.  And then one night last week I happened to get home from a business session of the Ladies’ Aid, early.  I went in quietly.  Angus was in his study, without a light, but the door was a little bit open, and I could hear his voice quite plainly.  He was praying—­”

“Oh, please—­”

“My dear, I couldn’t help hearing.  I didn’t listen.  I was rooted to the spot.  Positively!  He—­”

“You must not tell me, Miss Annabel, I won’t listen.”

“Very well, my dear.  Perhaps you are right.  Couldn’t tell you his very words anyway.  I cannot remember them.  He was very eloquent, terribly worked up!  And he was praying for Her.  That’s what he called your mother, just Her.  It sounded almost—­almost popish, you know!  Then suddenly he stopped as if something had cut him off—­sharp.  There was a silence.  So long I began to be frightened and then he cried out loud, ‘Not for me!  Not for me!’ It was dreadful!  But it proves my point, I think.  Why, my dear, whatever is the matter?”

Esther, leaning against the window frame, was sobbing weakly.

“Dear me!  I had no idea you would feel it so badly.  Take a sip of water—­do!”

Esther struggled to regain her self-control.

“It seems so—­sad,” she faltered.

“Yes, of course.  It is sad.  And I have great sympathy with my poor brother,” went on Miss Annabel pinning down her hair net.  “But do you know, I sometimes think,” she hesitated and a slow blush arose in her middle-aged cheek, “I sometimes think that people in love aren’t to be pitied after all.  Though it is hardly a thought to express to a young girl like you.

“You know,” she went on awkwardly as Esther still made no remark, “they feel a great deal, of course, but it must be so very interesting.  A little cold cream for my nose, Esther.  If I leave it until I get home I shall certainly peel.”

Esther provided the cream and a powder puff.  She felt sick at heart.  Her calmer world of the afternoon burst like a bubble leaving only a tear behind.  The vision of Angus Macnair in the dark study reaching out frantic hands for the thing he knew could never be his, seemed a last touch of unendurable irony.  Surely some one, somewhere, must be moved to dreadful mirth at these blunders of the fates.  From the echo of such laughter commonplace was the only refuge.  Esther bathed her eyes and called to Jane to let her mother know that supper was ready.

The sounds of the child’s cheerful tattoos upon Mrs. Coombe’s door accompanied them down the stairs, but when they had waited a few minutes, Jane came quietly into the room alone.

“Mother doesn’t answer me, Esther.”

Miss Annabel looked surprised, then curious.  Esther felt her face flame.  It was really too bad of Mary to make things so much harder than she need.  Her refusal to answer could only mean that she had determined to be thoroughly disagreeable; and with company in the house.  But her annoyance was abruptly checked by the effect of the news upon the doctor.  It was not annoyance she read in his eyes.  It was dismay.  With a murmured sentence, which may or may not have been excuse, he turned from the room.