Then suddenly
it had all become indifferent to her. Devotion to her boy, books, and
natural history absorbed a mind more and more impatient of ordinary
conventions.
"You are quite sure that Melrose will be out of the way?" she asked her
son as they entered on the last stretch of their walk.
"Well, you saw the letter."
"No--give it me."
He handed it. She read it through attentively.
"Mr. Melrose asks me to say that he will not be here. He is going over to
the neighbourhood of Carlisle on business, and cannot be home till ten
o'clock at night."
"He has the decency not to 'regret,'" said Lady Tatham.
"No. It is awkward of course going at all"--Tatham's brow was a little
furrowed--"but I somehow think I ought to go."
"Oh, go," said his mother. "If he does play a trick you will know how
to meet it. It would be very like him to play some trick," she added,
thoughtfully.
"Mother," said Tatham impetuously, "was Melrose ever in love with you?"
He coloured boyishly as he spoke. Lady Tatham looked up startled; a faint
red appeared in her cheeks also.
"I believe he supposed himself to be. I knew him very well, and I
might--possibly--have accepted him--but that some information came to my
knowledge. Then, later on, largely I think to punish me, he nearly
succeeded in entangling my younger sister--your Aunt Edith. I stood in
his way. He hates me, of course. I think he suffered. In those days he
was very different. But his pride and self-will were always a madness.
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