Part 12 (2/2)

”Why, you poor little, foolish, nervous creature,” he said, ”there's nothing wrong with Judy now; she was ill, but she's much better. My darling Hilda--my love, you must really not disturb yourself about a trifling mishap of this sort.”

”It isn't a trifle, Jasper. Oh, I know Judy--I know how she looks and what she feels. Oh, do, do let me go back to her, darling.”

”You read that letter in such a perturbed sort of voice that I can scarcely follow its meanings,” said Quentyns. ”Here, give it to me, and let me see for myself what it is all about. Why will old ladies write such villainous hands? Where does the pa.s.sage begin, Hilda? Sit down, darling, quiet yourself. Now let me see, here it is--'Judy has not been well----'”

Hilda's hands had shaken with nervousness while she read her aunt's letter aloud, but Quentyns held the sheet of thin paper steadily. As the sentences fell from his lips, his full tones seemed to put new meaning into them--the ghostly terrors died out of Hilda's heart. When her husband laid down the sheet of paper, and turned to her with a triumphant smile, she could not help smiling back at him in return.

”There,” he said, ”did not I tell you there was nothing wrong with Judy now? What a little goose you are!”

”I suppose I am; and if you really, really think--if you are quite sure that she's all right----”

”Of course, I am absolutely certain; doesn't Aunt Marjorie say so? The fact is, Hilda, you make too great a fuss about that little sister of yours--I feel almost jealous of her.”

CHAPTER IX.

STARVED.

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me? Shall I never miss Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss?

--E. BARRETT BROWNING.

In the first pleasant spring-time of that same year, Mrs. Anstruther, a very gay and fas.h.i.+onable-looking woman of between forty and fifty years of age, turned on a certain morning to her daughter and made a remark:

”Don't forget that we must pay some calls this afternoon, Mildred.”

Mildred was standing by the window of their beautiful drawing room. The window-boxes had just been filled with lovely spring flowers; she was bending over them and with deft fingers arranging the blossoms and making certain small alterations, which had the effect of grouping the different ma.s.ses of color more artistically than the gardener had done.

”Yes, mother,” she said, half turning her handsome head and glancing back at her parent. ”We are to make calls. I am quite agreeable.”

”I wish you would take an interest, Mildred; it is so unpleasant going about with people who are only just 'quite agreeable.' Now, when I was a young girl----”

”Oh, please, mother, don't! The times have completely changed since you were young; enthusiasm has gone out of fas.h.i.+on. I am nothing if I am not fas.h.i.+onable! Of course, if calls have to be made, I shall make them.

I'll put on my most becoming bonnet, and my prettiest costume, and I'll sit in the carriage by your side, and enter the houses of those friends who happen to be at home, and I'll smile and look agreeable, and people will say, 'What an amiable woman Miss Anstruther is!' I'll do the correct thing of _course_, only I suppose it is not necessary for my heart to go pitter-patter over it. By the way, have you made out a list of the unfortunates who are to be victimized by our presence this afternoon?”

Mrs. Anstruther sighed, and gazed in some discontent at her daughter.

”It is so disagreeable not to understand people,” she said. ”I don't profess to understand you, Mildred. If you will give me my visiting-book I can soon tell you the places where we ought to go. And oh, by the way, should we not call on Hilda Quentyns? she has taken a house somewhere in West Kensington.”

”You don't mean to tell me that the Quentyns are in town?” said Mildred, turning sharply round and gazing at her mother.

”Of course; they have been in London for some time. I met Lady Malvern yesterday, and she gave me Hilda's address. She seems to have gone to live in a very poky place. See, I have entered the name in my address-book--10, Philippa Road, West Kensington.”

”Then of course we'll go to her--that will be _really_ nice,” said Mildred with enthusiasm. ”We might go to Hilda first and spend some little time with her.”

”But Mrs. Milward's 'at home' begins quite early. I should not like to miss that.”

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