"You must be my guest to-night."
"Thank you. I must return home to-night," said the Old Lady firmly,
and there was that in her tone which told Andrew Cameron
that it would be useless to urge her. But he insisted on
telephoning for his carriage to drive her to the station.
The Old Lady submitted to this, because she was secretly
afraid her own legs would not suffice to carry her there;
she even shook hands with him at parting, and thanked him
a second time for granting her request.
"Not at all," he said. "Please try to think a little more kindly
of me, Cousin Margaret."
When the Old Lady reached the station she found, to her dismay,
that her train had just gone and that she would have to wait two hours
for the evening one. She went into the waiting-room and sat down.
She was very tired. All the excitement that had sustained her was gone,
and she felt weak and old. She had nothing to eat, having expected to get
home in time for tea; the waiting-room was chilly, and she shivered
in her thin, old, silk mantilla. Her head ached and her heart likewise.
She had won Sylvia's desire for her; but Sylvia would go out of her life,
and the Old Lady did not see how she was to go on living after that.
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