A Proud Moment

Edith could not, for instance, write to George Elgood and question him
concerning his silence: could not ask how it came to pass that while his
brother had written to Margot, to Ronald, even to herself, he remained
silent, content to send commonplace messages through a third person. As
for Margot herself, she never mentioned the younger of the two brothers,
but was always ready to talk about the elder, and seemed unaffectedly
pleased at her sister's appreciation of the kindly, genial little man.

"But why was he so sweet to me?" Edith would ask, with puzzled
wonderment. "From the moment I arrived he seemed to be on the outlook
to see how he could help. And he took an interest in Jack, and asked
all about him and his affairs. The astonishing thing is that I told
him, too! Though he was a stranger, his interest was so real and deep
that I could confide in him more easily than in many old friends. Had
you been talking about us to him, by any chance?"

Margot turned her head on the pillow, and stared out of the window to
the ridge of hills against the skyline. Her cheeks had sunk, making the
brown eyes appear pathetically large and worn. There was a listlessness
in her expression which was strangely different from the vivacious,
self-confident Margot of a few weeks ago.

"Yes, I spoke about you one day. He liked you, because you were so fond
of Jack. He was in love himself, and the girl died, but he loves her
still, just the same. He tries to help other girls for her sake. He
said he wanted to know you. If it were ever in his power to help you
and Jack, he would do it; but sometimes no one can help. It makes
things worse when they try. You might just as well give up at once."