It will all come right," he insisted.
"No, papa." She shook her dark head. "Nothing is right while it
comes."
"It is nothing that we ourselves have ever done in our lives that
I will swear to you," said Mrs. M'Leod suddenly. "And we have
changed our servants several times. So we know it is not them."
"Never mind. Let us enjoy ourselves while we can," said Mr.
M'Leod, opening the champagne.
But we did not enjoy ourselves. The talk failed. There were long
silences.
"I beg your pardon," I said, for I thought some one at my elbow
was about to speak.
"Ah! That is the other thing!" said Miss M'Leod. Her mother
groaned.
We were silent again, and, in a few seconds it must have been, a
live grief beyond words--not ghostly dread or horror, but aching,
helpless grief--overwhelmed us, each, I felt, according to his or
her nature, and held steady like the beam of a burning glass.
Behind that pain I was conscious there was a desire on somebody's
part to explain something on which some tremendously important
issue hung.
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