Had her life depended upon it Edith could not have spoken, and a nod was her only answer, while her cheeks burned scarlet and the perspiration gathered about her mouth. The colonel was angry, and rose to take leave, while Jenny, who was angry also at what she believed to be the lady’s pride, began in a flippant way to say that, poor as they were, they had some grand relatives; her oldest sister, Dorothea, had married into one of the high Scotch families, where they kept twenty servants and dined at six o’clock. “Hoity-toity, Jenny, my lass,” said the mother, “what was the good o’ that? Dinna them foine folk turn my Dolly and her maun out o’ door and never spake to ’em till he died?” “Yes, mother, but their boy got the money at last, and was here to see us a spell ago, lookin’ as foine as any gentleman,” Jenny said, and then having given the final twist to her hair, and seeing that their guests were really going, she woke the little Godfrey Schuyler, and took him proudly to Edith, who could and did kiss him; an act which made amends for much of her silence and seeming haughtiness of manner. Had Edith followed out her impulse she would have kissed Abelard’s mother, for the sake of the dead son, but after her persistent silence and reserve there could be no excuse for such a proceeding, and so she merely took the withered hand in her own and pressed it hard, managing to say “good-by,” and then she passed through the low door, out into the sunshine, like one passing from prison walls into freedom again. For a time the colonel was silent, and never spoke a word until they reached the border of the wood through which a path led to Alnwick; then, as Edith paused a moment and looked back at the thatched roof with the creeper climbing over it, he, too, looked back and said: “I am glad my lot was not cast among such people; I cannot say they are to my taste, especially that garrulous Mrs. Nesbit, with her fine comb and bare arms. The old lady is better, and has a good deal of natural refinement. I think our visit did her good; such people are always pleased with attention from their betters, and it certainly does us no harm to give it. Edith, my dear——” He spoke a little sternly now, and his face was overcast. “I am sorry you chose to be so quiet and reserved. It would have pleased me better if you had made an effort to be more social with them, and I really owe them so much.” “Oh, Howard, please forgive me. It was not pride which kept me silent. I wanted to talk, but could not,” Edith said, while the tears rained over her face.