You don't look much stronger. I'm sure
you ought to have a change. My mother was never well here; though, for
the matter of that, she was never very well anywhere. I suppose it's the
laboratory that attracts me here, as it did my father, playing with the
ancient forces of the world in these Arcadian surroundings--Arcady
without beauty or Arcadians." He glanced up at his mother's picture. "No,
she never liked it--a very silent woman, secretive almost."
Suddenly her eyes flared up. Anger possessed her. She choked it down.
Secretive--the poor bruised soul who had gone to her grave with a broken
heart!
"She secretive? No, Eglington," she rejoined gravely, "she was congealed.
She lived in too cold an air. She was not secretive, but yet she kept a
secret--another's."
Again Eglington had the feeling which possessed him when he entered the
room. She had changed. There was something in her tone, a meaning, he had
never heard before. He was startled. He recalled the words of the Duchess
as she went up the staircase.
What was it all about?
"Whose secrets did she keep?" he asked, calmly enough.
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