Fate was virtuous at times; it had delivered into her hands the girl who had affronted her.
Mrs.Sheridan was in her own room.

The approach of Sibyl and Roscoe had driven her from the library, for she had miscalculated her husband's mood, and she felt that if he used his injured hand as a mark of emphasis again, in her presence, she would (as she thought of it) "have a fit right there." She heard Sibyl's step, and pretended to be putting a touch to her hair before a mirror.
"I was just coming down," she said, as the door opened.
"Yes, he wants you to," said Sibyl.

"It's all right, mother Sheridan.
He's forgiven me." Mrs.Sheridan sniffed instantly; tears appeared.

She kissed her daughter-in-law's cheek; then, in silence, regarded the mirror afresh, wiped her eyes, and applied powder.
"And I hope Edith will be happy," Sibyl added, inciting more applications of Mrs.Sheridan's handkerchief and powder.
"Yes, yes," murmured the good woman.

"We mustn't make the worst of things." "Well, there was something else I had to say, and he wants you to hear it, too," said Sibyl.