Mrs. Costello had lain, during his visit, listening to the faint sound
of their voices, which just reached her through the half-open door of
her room.

She turned her head restlessly as she listened. "If it could have been,"
she thought, "he would have been the same to her through all--but the
other, how could I tell him even? Truly, I believe he would forgive
crime, more readily than misery like mine. And I _must_ tell her."

Lucia came back softly into the room, and to the bedside; looking, with
her newly awakened fears, at her mother's face, she saw plainly how worn
it was; it seemed, in truth, to have grown years older in the last few
weeks. A pang of remorse shot through her heart; she stooped and kissed
her with unusual tenderness, and then turned away to hide the tears
which self-reproach had brought to her eyes. Mrs. Costello caught her
hand, and smiling, asked what news Maurice had brought?

"None, mamma. He came to ask about you."

"But had he nothing to tell you about the Scotts?"

"I forgot to ask him, and I believe he forgot to tell me."

"You must have been very much interested to forget such an event as a
party the moment it was over."

"We were only talking about you. Maurice says you have been looking
ill."