She sat up, and called her daughter.
Lucia started up and came into the salon.

She bent down over her mother, and kissed her to hide her flushed face and happy eyes for a moment.
"Are you rested, dear mamma ?" she asked.
"Yes, darling.

Who is there ?" "A visitor, mother, from England." "From England?
Not your cousin ?" "No, indeed.

Guess again." "Tell me.

Quickly, Lucia." "What do you say to Maurice ?" "Impossible!" But Maurice, hearing his own name, came forward boldly.
"I have but just arrived, Mrs.Costello.I told you I should find you out." They looked at each other with something not unlike defiance, but nevertheless Mrs.Costello shook hands with her guest cordially enough.
Certainly he _had_ kept his word--there might be a mistake somewhere, and at all events, for the present moment he was here, and it was very pleasant to see him.
So the three sat together and talked, and it seemed so natural that they should be doing it, that what did begin to be strange and incredible was the separation, and the various events of the past six months.