They were scandalized by the story, and they
had impressed on Mrs. Melrose that she and her daughter had a legal
right to suitable maintenance from her husband. Urged by them--and
starvation--Netta had at last plucked up courage. The old father was left
in the charge of a _contadino_ family, a small loan was raised for them
to which the English visitors contributed, and the mother and daughter
started for home.
"But without us, or some one else to help her," said Victoria, "she would
never--never!--get through the business. Her terror of Melrose is a
perfect disease. She shakes if you mention his name. That was what made
her think of me--and that visit I paid her. Poor thing! she was rather
pretty then. But it was plain enough what their relations were. Well,
now, Harry, it's for you to say. But my blood's up! I suggest we see this
thing through!"
The door slowly opened as she spoke, and two small figures came in
silently, closing it behind them. There they stood, a story in
themselves; Netta, with the bearing and the dress of a shabby little
housekeeper; the girl ghastly thin, her shoulder-blades cutting her
flimsy dress, blue shadows in all the hollows of the face, but with
extraordinary pride of bearing, and extraordinary possibilities of beauty
in the modelling of her delicate features, and splendid melancholy eyes.
Tatham could not help staring at her. She was indeed the disinherited
princess.
Then he walked up to them, and shook hands with boyish heartiness.
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