Coffee over, we
moved to the window which opened on a little back garden--the room was
on the ground floor--in which grew prickly pear and mimosa, and newly
flowering heliotrope. I don't know why I should mention this, except
that some scenes impress themselves, for no particular reason, on the
memory, while others associated with more important incidents fade into
vagueness. I picked a bunch of heliotrope which she pinned at her bosom.
"Lola," I said, "I want to speak to you seriously."
She smiled wanly: "Do we ever speak otherwise these dreadful days?"
"It's about Dale. Read this," said I, and I handed her Lady Kynnersley's
letter. She read it through and returned it to me.
"Well?"
"I asked you a week or two ago what you were going to do with your
life," I said. "Does that letter offer you any suggestion?"
"I'm to give him some hope--what hope can I give him?"
"You're a free woman--free to marry. For the boy's sake the mother will
consent. When she knows you as well as we know you she will--"
"She will--what? Love me?"
"She's a woman not given to loving--except, in unexpected bursts, her
offspring.
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