‘Yes, my mother has had a visit, which sent me out untimely; it annoys me, and of course I must come and tell you my annoyance. Do you remember a certain Mansfield woman long ago?’ ‘Do I remember her!’ ‘Of course you must; there is always mischief where she is. She has appeared again.’ ‘But is that a strange event? She is a relation, and your mother was much attached to her, too.’ ‘I suppose so; though why----? Can anybody explain these things? And there is always mischief when she comes. I don’t know what may be brewing at present, nor why she comes now. Does she live here?’ ‘Oh no,’ said Lady William; ‘certainly not, she must have come from London: everybody that is uncomfortable comes from London. But you must not be superstitious. Mischief can’t be created if the elements of it don’t exist, and I see none that she can work upon now.’ ‘She might make dissension; she will make dissension, dear lady, between my mother and me.’ ‘Forewarned is forearmed; don’t let her,’ said Lady William, ‘that is the only thing to say.’ ‘But she will be too many for me,’ said Leo, shaking his head yet smiling; ‘I have no confidence in myself.’ ‘You are too superstitious; she must not be too many for you; your mother’s son is more to her than her cousin.’ ‘Is she her cousin? and am I----’ ‘Her son!’ said Lady William, with a laugh; ‘the wonderful question! I don’t think any doubt can be entertained on that subject.’ ‘No, no; I meant am I more strong as son than the other as---- How can I tell what to say?’ ‘My dear Leo! A son is stronger than anything in the world.’ ‘Except a daughter,’ he said, looking at Mab. ‘It is the same; one’s own child is more to one than all the world beside.’ ‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘there is one thing that I think is almost better, that clears away the clouds and brings out the sun, and makes one see him:--and that is you.’ He put his hand upon hers softly, with a momentary touch. ‘That is a friend,’ said Lady William hastily. A little uneasy flush came over her face. She was very conscious, more conscious than was pleasant, of little Mab sewing on sedately, never lifting her eyes. XV Mrs. Brown walked quickly through the darkening house. She met a footman with a lamp, who stood bewildered at the strange figure, and a housemaid in the upper corridor, who stopped her to ask what she wanted, but was soon intimidated by her look and voice. The stranger wanted no guidance, no indication, to which side to turn, as the maid perceived, who stood watching her, and saw her swift, familiar approach to Mrs. Swinford’s door. ‘Missis will go out of her senses,’ said Mary Jane to herself, and she hurried away, to be out of it, whatever might happen. ‘Nobody can say as I let her in,’ the young woman said.