Chapter 44 - Page 2

Starbrow, noting and perhaps rightly interpreting
the other's look. "He used occasionally to come to my house on Wednesday
evenings. I never saw him except at these little gatherings, but I liked
him very much and admired his talents. I was deeply shocked to hear of
his death."

Constance dropped her eyes, which had grown slightly dim. "Your words
sound sincere," she returned.

"That is a strange thing to say, I think," returned Miss Starbrow
quickly. "It is not my custom to be insincere." And then her sincerity
almost compelled her to add, "But about your late husband I have said too
much." For that was what she felt, and it vexed her soul to have to utter
polite falsehoods.

"I fear I did not express myself well," apologised Constance. "But I have
grown a little morbid, perhaps, through knowing that the few friends I
have, who knew my husband, had formed a somewhat disparaging and greatly
mistaken opinion of him. I am sorry they knew him so little; but it is
perhaps natural for us to think little of any man until he succeeds. What
I meant to say was that your words did not sound as if they came only
from your lips."

"Perhaps you are a little morbid, Mrs. Chance--forgive me for saying it.
For after all what does it matter what people say or think about any of
us? I dare say that if your husband had by chance invented a new button-
hook or something, and had been paid fifty thousand pounds for the
patent, or if someone had died and left him a fortune, people would have
seen all the good that was in him and more."

"Yes, I suppose so. And yet it seems a cynical view to take. I should
like to believe that it is not necessary to be wealthy, or famous, or
distinguished in any way above my fellows, in order to win hearts--to
make others know me as I know myself."

"Perhaps the view I took was cynical, Mrs. Chance. At all events, without
being either wealthy or famous, you have won at least one friend who
seems to know you well, and loves you with her whole heart."

Again Constance looked searchingly at her, remembering that old jealousy
of her visitor, and not quite sure that the words had not been spoken
merely to draw her out. And Mary guessed her thought and frowned again.

"Yes," quickly returned Constance, casting her suspicion away, "I have in
Fan a friend indeed. A sweeter, more candid and loving spirit it would be
impossible to find on earth. Not only does she greatly love, but there is
also in her a rare faculty of inspiring love in those she encounters."

"Yes, I know that," said Mary, thinking how much better she knew it than
the other, and of