She talked about the others—Fan had a way of brightening up everything that was very amusing. Not that she ever made it out better or worse—it was only the quaint touches of harmless pleasantry.
Miss Lucy laughed softly and a pink tint came to her pale cheeks.
Miss Esther in the meanwhile made several journeys to and fro. Mr. Churchill took up his paper and pretended to read, but his eyes wandered to the fair young girl whose simple homelikeness was her greatest charm. Presently the sun came around, and Miss Lucy’s chair was wheeled to the sitting room, which was cool and shady.
All their entertainments were not kept for the great drawing-room. Here were pictures, a well filled book-case, articles of virtu, a cabinet of shells, minerals and precious stones, and portfolios of fine engravings. Here an album filled with notable authors, artists and musical people, another with eminent men of Europe, and remarkable women. Fan had enough to entertain her there.
Suddenly a bell rang.
“This is the shortest morning that I have known for some time,” exclaimed Miss Lucy. “It hardly seems possible that is the dinner bell. We are old fashioned in our hour, you see.”
Fan was astonished as well. Mr. Churchill gave Lucy his arm, as she could walk with a little assistance. Miss Esther led Fanny.
The dinner table was like a picture. The quaint old china, delicately flowered, and the antique silver was set off by the snowy cloth and the brilliant bouquets with trailing stems that looked as if they might have grown in the vases. Fan enjoyed it all to the uttermost, and was too happy to envy aught of it.
“You have been sitting up all the morning;” said Miss Churchill, “and you do not look a bit tired now! Shall we give Miss Fanny the credit?”
“I think she deserves it. Indeed I hardly noticed how the time passed. You see I get so tired of staying alone, or talking over the same old subjects with Essie.”