“A very smiling martyr, pretending to be awfully
jolly. I believe I requited papa by being very
cross.”
“At his interfering, eh? No wonder.”
“Chiefly to conceal my fright, but I did begin
trying not to fly out as I used to do, and I was frightened
whenever I did so.”
“Poor Daisy! That is why you always seemed
to think every headache your fault.”
“The final effect-—I won’t say cure-—was
from that book on education which said that a child
should never know a cross word or look between father
and mother. So you really have forgotten how
horrid I could be?”
“Or never felt it! But to return to our
muttons. I can’t believe otherwise than
that Cherry liked her old man, and if their parallel
lines did not meet, she never found it out.”
“That is true. She liked him and leant
on him, and was constantly pleased and amused as well
as idolized, but I don’t think the deep places
in her heart were stirred. Then there were constraints.
He could not stand Angela’s freaks. And
his politics-—”
“He was not so very much advanced.”
“Enough not to like the ‘Pursuivant’
to lie about, nor her writing for it, even about art
or books; nor did his old bones enjoy the rivers at
Vale Leston. Now you will see a rebound.”
“Or will she be too tender of him to do what
he disliked?”
“That will be the test. Now she has Clement,
I expect an article will come on the first book they
read together.”
Lance laughed, but returned to defend his sister.
“Indeed she was attached to him. She was
altogether drooping and crushed at Vale Leston in
the autumn.”
“It was too soon. She was overdone with
the multitudes, and in fact it was more the renewal
of the old sorrow than the new one. Anna tells
me that when they returned there was the same objectless
depression. She would not take up her painting
again, she said it was of no use, there was no one
to care. I remember her being asked once to
do something for the Kyrle Society, and Mr. Grinstead
did not like it, but now Clement’s illness has
made a break, and in a new place, with him to occupy
her instead of only that dawdling boy, you will see
what you shall see!”
“Ah! Gerald!” was the answer, in
a doubtful, wistful tone, just as they arrived.
For in spite of all her mother had taught her,
She was really remarkably fond of the water.
Jane
Taylor.
Mr. and Mrs. Lancelot Underwood had not long been
gone to their meeting when there ran into the drawing-room
a girl a year older than Anna, with a taller, better
figure, but a less clear complexion, namely Emilia,
the adopted child of Mr. Travis Underwood. She
found Anna freshening up the flowers, and Gerald in
an arm-chair reading a weekly paper.
