He turns quickly round, and his face seems to harden as he turns.
"And has she really dared to write to you?" he says, sternly. "Does she think that the past can be so soon forgotten?"
"My dear, you are not like you talk in that way," answers Mrs. Kelvin, as she lays her hand caressingly on her son's shoulder. "I never rightly understood the reason of that terrible quarrel between you and Olive. You were too ill for me to question you much at the time, and since you have been better the mere mention of Olive's name has seemed so distasteful to you, that I have spoken of her as little as possible. But to say that I should not like to know how it happened that you fell out so strangely, would be to say that I am not a woman."
Under his breath Mr. Kelvin calls himself by a very strong name for having spoken so hastily. He has carefully concealed from his mother the fact of Olive Deane having been implicated in any way with regard to his long illness. He has dreaded the effect such a revelation might have upon her. He has allowed her to surmise and wonder as to the origin of their sudden estrangement, but he has never really enlightened her.
"Olive went off to Stammars one morning with a letter from you," resumes the old lady. "An hour later you rush off after her, although you have not been out of your room for two months. You come back after a time, but Olive does not. Next day she sends for her boxes, but from the hour when she set out for Stammars till now, I have never set eyes on Olive Deane."
"Yes, it must have seemed strange to you," says Mr. Kelvin, after a pause; "but the subject was such a very painful one that I always felt reluctant to mention it."
"You never thought, dear, how painful it must be to me to be left in such a state of doubt and uncertainty."
"I know that I ought to have told you long ago. I will tell you now." He pauses while he looks at his watch and folds up his newspaper. "The facts of the case can be told you in very few words," he says. "Olive Deane, during the time that I was ill, suppressed a very important private letter that had been sent to me through the post."
"That was wrong, very wrong indeed," says the old lady, gravely. "Had any other than you told me of it, I could not have believed them." "That morning when she went to Stammars it was with a letter from me addressed to Miss Lloyd. That letter she also suppressed, after having, I presume, opened it and read it. I was very angry with her indeed. I spoke my mind very strongly on the point, and we parted--never, I hope, to meet again."