And his eyes--his eyes--" she paused and thought,
"There is a look in them that is like--it is just like--that first
morning."
The change which passed over her face the next moment might have
been said to seem to obliterate all trace of the childish memory.
"He was taken away by his mother. That was the beginning of my
finding out," she said. "I heard Andrews talking to her sister and
in a baby way I gathered that Lord Coombe had sent him. I hated
Lord Coombe for years before I found out that he hadn't--and
that there was another reason. After that it took time to puzzle
things out and piece them together. But at last I found out what
the reason had been. Then I began to make plans. These are not my
rooms," glancing about her again, "--these are not my clothes,"
with a little pull at her dress. "I'm not 'a strong character',
Mademoiselle, as I wanted to be, but I haven't one little regret--not
one." She kneeled down and put her arms round her old friend's
waist, lifting her face. "I'm like a leaf blown about by the
wind. I don't know what it will do with me. Where do leaves go?
One never knows really."
She put her face down on Mademoiselle's knee then and cried with
soft bitterness.
When she bade her good-bye at Charing Cross Station and stood and
watched the train until it was quite out of sight, afterwards she
went back to the rooms for which she felt no regrets.
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