Evadne walked through the village on her way back to Fraylingay. A young
woman with her baby in her arms was standing at the door of her cottage
looking out as she passed, and she stopped to speak to her. The child held
out his little arms, and kicked and crowed to be taken, and when his
mother had intrusted him to Evadne, he clasped her tight round the neck,
and nibbled her cheek with his warm, moist mouth, sending a delicious
thrill through every fibre of her body, a first foretaste of maternity.

She hurried on to hide her emotion.

But all the way home there was a singing at her heart, a certainty of joys
undreamt of hitherto, the tenderest, sweetest, most womanly joys--her own
house, her own husband, her own children--perhaps; it all lay in that, her
_own_!




CHAPTER XII


The next few weeks were decked with the richness of autumn tints, the
glory of autumn skies; but Evadne was unaware of either. She had no
consciousness of distinct days and nights, and indeed they were pretty
well mingled after she went to town, for she often danced till daylight
and slept till dusk. And it was all a golden haze, this time, with
impressions of endless shops; of silks, satins, and lovely laces; of
costly trinkets; of little notes flying between London and Shorncliffe;
and of everybody so happy that it was impossible to help sitting down and
having a good cry occasionally.