Then she
said, abruptly:
"Does she ever talk to you about Aunt Sparling?"
"Her mother?"
The girl nodded.
Mrs. Colwood hesitated--then said, unwillingly: "No. She has mentioned
her once or twice. One can see how she missed her as a child--how she
misses her still."
"Well, I don't know what call she has to miss her!" cried Fanny Merton,
in a note of angry scorn. "A precious good thing she died when she
did--for everybody."
Mrs. Colwood felt her hands trembling. In the growing darkness of the
winter afternoon it seemed to her startled imagination as though this
black-eyed black-browed girl, with her scowling passionate face, were
entering into possession of the house and of Diana--an evil and invading
power. She tried to choose her words carefully.
"Miss Mallory has never talked to me of her parents. And, if you will
excuse me, Miss Merton--if there is anything sad--or tragic--in their
history, I would rather hear it from Miss Mallory than from you!"
"Anything sad?--anything _sad_? Well, upon my word!--"
The girl breathed fast. So, involuntarily, did Mrs. Colwood.
"You don't mean to say"--the speaker threw her body forward, and brought
her face close to Mrs.
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