"Oh, by-the-bye, are we really to be buried alive in that country place?" inquired Mrs. Trevor.
"I shall have to take Julia there in a month or six weeks. You must please yourself about accompanying us."
A touch of irritation showed in the manner, and Francesca's colour rose. She gave him a good look, and stood up, saying coldly, "That was not precisely in your best style, when you know my circumstances. Come, Mittie—it is about time to dress for table d'hôte."
Harvey evidently felt the rebuke. He went to open the door for her, and said as she swept past, "I beg your pardon. I spoke carelessly."
"So I supposed!" —and she was gone, Mittie following in her rear. Harvey came back to his seat, and there was an involuntary motion of his fingers through his hair. Julia watched with eyes of soft sympathy.
"Poor Francesca! I shall have to make my peace with her," he said, half smiling.
"Oh, no need. I have no patience with Francesca. She takes everything as a right, and shows airs when she ought to be only grateful. And just now, too, when you are so worried! Harvey, have things gone wrong? I can't quite make you out; you are not like yourself."
"I shall be all right now I am with you again."
The words were a great delight to Julia. She had the anxious clinging temperament which craves for much outward show of affection, and cannot trust without such evidence. Her cheek came down on his hand, and she said, "Then I don't mind anything—even Hermione."
"You and Hermione will get on well enough."