This was a grand shopping day, an endless business, and as the autumn day began to close in, even Mr. Kendal’s model patience was nearly exhausted before they called for their little friend.  There was something very sweet and appropriate in her appearance; her dress, without presuming to share their mourning, did not insult it by gay colouring; it was a quiet dark violet and white checked silk, a black mantle, and black velvet bonnet with a few green leaves to the lilac flowers, and the face when at rest was softly pensive, but ready to respond with cheerful smiles and grateful looks.  She had become more English, and had dropped much foreign accent and idiom, but without losing her characteristic grace and power of disembarrassing those to whom she spoke, and in a few moments even Sophy had lost all sense of meeting under awkward or melancholy circumstances, and was talking eagerly to her dear old sympathizing friend.

There was a great exchange of tidings; Genevieve had much to tell of her dear Rainsforths, the many vicissitudes of anxiety in which she had shared, and of the children’s ways of taking the parting; and of the dear little Fanny who seemed to have carried away so large a piece of her susceptible heart, that Sophy could not help breaking out, ’Well, I do think it is very hard to make yourself a bit of a mother’s heart, only to have it torn out again.’

Albinia smiled, and said, ’After all, Sophy, happiness in this world is in such loving, only we don’t find it out till the rent has been made.’

‘And some people can get fond of anything,’ said Sophy.

‘I’m sure,’ said Genevieve, ’every one is so kind to me I can’t help it.’

‘I was not blaming you,’ said Sophy.  ’People are the better for it, but I cannot like except where I esteem, and that does not often come.’

‘Oh! don’t you think so?’ cried Genevieve.

’I don’t mean moderate approval.  That may extend far, and with it good-will, but there is a deep, concentrated feeling which I don’t believe those who like every one can ever have, and that is life.’

Perhaps the deepening twilight favoured the utterance of her feelings, for, as they were descending a hill, she said, ’Mamma, that was the place where Maurice was brought back to me.’

She had before passed it in silence, but in the dark she was not afraid of betraying the expression that the thrill of exquisite recollection brought to her countenance; and leaning back in her corner indulged in listening to the narration, as Albinia, unaware of the special point of the episode, related Maurice’s desperate enterprise, going on to dilate on the benefit of having Mr. O’More at the bank rather than Andrew Goldsmith.

‘Ah!’ said Genevieve, ’it is he who wants to pull down our dear old house.  I shall quarrel with him.’

’Genevieve making common cause with the obstructives of Bayford, as if he had not enemies enough!’