"
Mrs. Noel's face quivered back, as a flower might when it was going to
be plucked; and again Lady Casterley put her handkerchief to her lips.
This time she rubbed them hard. There was nothing to come off; to do so,
therefore, was a satisfaction.
"I am an old woman," she said, "and you mustn't mind what I say."
Mrs. Noel did not answer, but looked straight at her visitor; to whom
it seemed suddenly that this was another person. What was it about that
face, staring at her! In a weird way it reminded her of a child that one
had hurt--with those great eyes and that soft hair, and the mouth thin,
in a line, all of a sudden. And as if it had been jerked out of her, she
said:
"I don't want to hurt you, my dear. It's about my grandson, of course."
But Mrs. Noel made neither sign nor motion; and the feeling of
irritation which so rapidly attacks the old when confronted by the
unexpected, came to Lady Casterley's aid.
"His name," she said, "is being coupled with yours in a way that's doing
him a great deal of harm. You don't wish to injure him, I'm sure."
Mrs. Noel shook her head, and Lady Casterley went on:
"I don't know what they're not saying since the evening your friend
Mr. Courtier hurt his knee. Miltoun has been most unwise. You had not
perhaps realized that."
Mrs. Noel's answer was bitterly distinct:
"I didn't know anyone was sufficiently interested in my doings.
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