“Oh! yes! she and Ralph must not meet again,” said Margaret, dreamingly. Her thoughts had wandered back to Bobby and Heyst, and all the trouble she had encountered whilst there. What despair had attacked her when she lost her only child, and now Madame Gobelli--the woman she so much disliked--had lost her only child also. “Poor Madame Gobelli!” she ejaculated, “I cannot help thinking of her! Fancy Bobby being--_dead_! And she used to make him so unhappy, and humiliate him before strangers! How she must be suffering for it now! How it must all come back upon her! Poor Bobby! Elinor will be sorry to hear that he is gone! She used to pity him so, and often gave him fruit and cakes. Fancy his being dead! I cannot believe it.” “It is true, nevertheless! But it is the common lot, Margaret! Perhaps, as his mother used to treat him so roughly, the poor lad is better off where he is.” “Oh! of course, I have no doubt of that! But he was all she had--like me!” said Margaret, with her eyes over-brimming. Her husband put his arms round her, and let her have her cry out on his shoulder. Then, as he wiped her tears away she whispered, “Arthur, I should like to go and see her--the Baroness, I mean! I can sympathise so truly with her, I might be able to say a few words of comfort!” “Do as you like, my darling,” replied Colonel Pullen, “that is, if you are sure that the woman won’t insult you, as she did Miss Brandt!” “Oh! no! no! I am not in the least afraid! Why should she? I shall only tell her how much I feel for her own our common loss----” She could not proceed, and the doctor whispered to the Colonel. “Let her do as she wishes! The best salve for our own wounds is to try and heal those of others.” Margaret rose and prepared to leave the room. “I shall go at once,” she said, “I suppose there is no chance of my meeting Harriet Brandt there!” “I think not! She told me she had left the Red House for good and all, but she did not say where she was staying! Though, after all, I think she is in most want of comfort of the two.” “Oh! no!” replied Margaret, faintly, “there is no grief like that of--of--” She did not finish her sentence, but left the room hastily in order to assume her walking things. “Will she ever get over the loss of her child?” demanded Colonel Pullen, gloomily. The doctor regarded him with a half-amused surprise. “My dear fellow, though it is useless to preach the doctrine to a bereaved mother, the loss of an innocent baby is perhaps the least trying in the category of human ills. To rear the child, as thousands do, to be unloving, or unsympathetic, or ungrateful, is a thousand times worse. But it is too soon for your dear wife to acknowledge it. Let her go to this other mother and let them cry together. It will do her all the good in the world!” And the doctor, having finished his luncheon, put on his top-coat and prepared to make a round of professional calls. Margaret came back ready for her visit.