He was not one to let a misunderstanding
come between us. How fortunate it was that I had told him where we were!
He must have left the letter himself. He had been so near me, and I had
not known.
I put down the letter with an indifferent air till the little maid had
left the room. When she had gone I snatched it up and was about to read
it, when my godmother called me, and then I thrust it into my bosom
unread. I placed it over my heart and it felt warm there. It brought me
into touch with him, so that, after all, it was not so bitter to be
going since I could write. And the very keeping back the reading of the
letter was sweet.
I was able to face my godmother with a smiling face, although I've no
doubt my eyes still bore the traces of tears.
"You are a dear child, Bawn," she said, lifting my face by the chin, and
looking down into my eyes, "a dear child!"
I felt a hypocrite at her praises, for I had been in flat rebellion a
little while before, and it was only the letter that had enabled me to
lift up my heart; but her mind was too occupied for her to notice how my
eyes fell and the guilty expression I must have worn.
A minute later we were in the cab, and I was watching the stream of
people in the street eagerly to see if I might see Anthony Cardew's face
among them.
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