“I think that I see Ida and Mabel Aumerle crossing the road,” said Cecilia, glancing out of the window. “How beautiful Ida is, and so charming! I declare I think she’s an angel!”
“She’s well enough,” replied the doctor, in a tone which said that she was that, but nothing more.
In a short time a little tap was heard at the door, and the vicar’s daughters were admitted. Ida indeed looked lovely; a rapid walk in a cold wind had brought a brilliant rose to her cheek, and as she laid on the table a large paper parcel which she and her sister had carried by turns, her eyes beamed with benevolent pleasure. Mabel was far less attractive in appearance than her sister, a small upturned nose robbing her face of all pretensions to beauty beyond what youth and good-humour might give; but she also looked bright and happy, for the girl’s errand was one of kindness. The want of a curtain in Bardon’s cold room had been noticed by others than Cecilia, and the parcel contained a crimson one made up by the young ladies themselves.
“Oh! what a beauty! what a love!” exclaimed Cecilia, in the enthusiasm of grateful admiration. “Papa, only see what a splendid curtain dear Ida and Mabel have brought us!”
The doctor was not half so enthusiastic. It has been said that there are four arts difficult of attainment,—how to give reproof, how to take reproof, how to give a present, and how to receive one. This difficulty is chiefly owing to pride. Timon Bardon was more annoyed at a want having been perceived, than gratified at its having been removed. He would gladly enough have obliged the daughters of his pastor, but to be under even a small obligation to them was a burden to his sensitive spirit. He could hardly thank his young friends; and a stranger might have judged from his manner that the Aumerles were depriving him of something that he valued, rather than adding to his comforts. But Ida knew Bardon’s character well, and made allowance for the temper of a peevish, disappointed man. She seated herself by Cecilia, and began at once on a different topic.
“I have a message for you, Miss Bardon. I saw Annabella on Saturday.”
“The countess!” cried the expectant Cecilia.
“She was at our house, and regretted that the threatening weather prevented her driving on here.”
“I’d have been so delighted!” interrupted Cecilia, while the doctor muttered to himself some inaudible remark.
“But she desired me to say, with her love, how much pleasure it would give her if you and her old friend the doctor (these were her words) would come to see her at Dashleigh Hall.”