p the forlorn woman in Florence? Perhaps Madame Danterre's
assertion, when Molly came of age, that she did not want to see Molly,
was only an attempt to find out whether Molly really wished to come to
her mother. From the day on which her ideal of her mother had been
completely shattered Molly had shrunk from even thinking of her. She now
shivered with repugnance, but she was almost glad to feel how repugnant
this duty might be, much as a medieval penitent might have rejoiced in
his own repugnance to the leprous wounds he was resolved to dress as an
expiation for sin. It did not strike her, as it never struck the noble
penitents in the Middle Ages, that it might be very trying to the object
of these expiatory actions. She felt at the moment that it must be a
comfort to her mother to receive all the love and devotion that she
would offer her. And there was real heroism in the letter that Molly
proceeded to write to Madame Danterre. For she knew that if her offer
were accepted she risked the loss of all that at present made life very
dear, both in what she already enjoyed, and in the hope that was hidden
in her heart.

Molly had pride enough to shrink utterly from the connection with her
mother, and her girl's innocence shrank, too, with quick sensitiveness
from what might be before her. How strange now appeared the dreams of
her childhood, the idealisation of the young and beautiful mother!

The letter was short, but very earnest, and had all the ring of truth in
it. She could not but think that any mother would respond to it, and,
for herself, after sending it there could be no looking back. Once the
letter was posted to the lawyer to be forwarded to Madame Danterre, a
huge weight seemed to be lifted from Molly's mind. That night she met
Edmund Grosse at dinner. He had never seen her so bright and
good-looking, and he found he had many questions to ask as to the summer
abroad.

For several weeks Molly received no answer from Florence, but during
that time she did not repent her hasty action. And during those weeks
her interest in religion grew stronger. Just as she had been unable to
work with philanthropists, she was ready now to take her religion alone.
She felt kinder to the world at large, but she did not at first feel any
need of human help or human company. She went sometimes to a service at
Westminster Abbey, sometimes to St. Paul's, sometimes to the Oratory,
and two or three times to the church in West Kensi