"Go this moment," his mother put in.
He none the less lingered long enough to offer Rose his blind face. "I want also to express———"
She took him up with a wonderful laugh. "Your real joy, dear Mr. Paul?"
"Please believe in that too." And Paul, at an unwonted pace, took his way.
"I believe in everything—I believe in every one," Rose went on. "But I don't believe———" She hesitated, then checked herself. "No matter. Can you forgive me?" she asked of Mrs. Beever.
"For giving up the child?" The lady of Eastmead looked at her hard. "No!" she said curtly, and, turning straight away, went and dropped into a seat from which she watched the retreating figures of her two parlourmaids, who carried off between them a basket containing the paraphernalia of tea. Rose, with a queer expression, but with her straight back to the painful past, quietly transferred her plea to Tony. "It was his coming—it made the difference. It upset me."
"Upset you? You were splendid!"
The light of what had happened was in her face as she considered him. " You are!" she replied.
