The stream of Mrs. Amyot's
eloquence had become a flood: one had the despairing sense that she had
sprung a leak, and that until the plumber came there was nothing to be
done about it.
The plumber came at length, in the shape of a clock striking ten; my
companion, with a sigh of relief, drifted away in search of Charlie and
the others; the audience scattered with the precipitation of people who
had discharged a duty; and, without surprise, I found the brown-bearded
stranger at my elbow.
We stood alone in the bare-floored room, under the flaring chandelier.
"I think you told me this afternoon that you were an old friend of Mrs.
Amyot's?" he began awkwardly.
I assented.
"Will you come in and see her?"
"Now? I shall be very glad to, if--"
"She's ready; she's expecting you," he interposed.
He offered no further explanation, and I followed him in silence. He led
me down the long corridor, and pushed open the door of a sitting-room.
"Mother," he said, closing the door after we had entered, "here's the
gentleman who says he used to know you."
Mrs. Amyot, who sat in an easy-chair stirring a cup of bouillon, looked up
with a start. She had evidently not seen me in the audience, and her son's
description had failed to convey my identity. I saw a frightened look in
her eyes; then, like a frost flower on a window-pane, the dimple expanded
on her wrinkled cheek, and she held out her hand.
"I'm so glad," she said, "so glad!"
She turned to her son, who stood watching us.
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