Mrs. Davilow had brought something in her hand which had already caused her an agitating anxiety, and she dared not speak until her darling had become calmer. But Gwendolen, with whom weeping had always been a painful manifestation to be resisted, if possible, again pressed her handkerchief against her eyes, and, with a deep breath, drew her head backward and looked at her mother, who was pale and tremulous.
“It was nothing, mamma,” said Gwendolen, thinking that her mother had been moved in this way simply by finding her in distress. “It is all over now.”
But Mrs. Davilow had withdrawn her arms, and Gwendolen perceived a letter in her hand.
“What is that letter?—worse news still?” she asked, with a touch of bitterness.
“I don’t know what you will think it, dear,” said Mrs. Davilow, kee
