" I went into the next room, and so saw
Rachel again for the first time since we had parted in Montagu Square.
She looked pitiably small and thin in her deep mourning. If I attached
any serious importance to such a perishable trifle as personal
appearance, I might be inclined to add that hers was one of those
unfortunate complexions which always suffer when not relieved by a
border of white next the skin. But what are our complexions and our
looks? Hindrances and pitfalls, dear girls, which beset us on our way
to higher things! Greatly to my surprise, Rachel rose when I entered the
room, and came forward to meet me with outstretched hand.
"I am glad to see you," she said. "Drusilla, I have been in the habit of
speaking very foolishly and very rudely to you, on former occasions. I
beg your pardon. I hope you will forgive me."
My face, I suppose, betrayed the astonishment I felt at this. She
coloured up for a moment, and then proceeded to explain herself.
"In my poor mother's lifetime," she went on, "her friends were not
always my friends, too. Now I have lost her, my heart turns for comfort
to the people she liked. She liked you.
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