Miss Lucy was much rested. “I have had three or four naps which did me a world of good;” she said. “You see I was very tired, and that made me rest delightfully. All my good things come at once. Winthrop is here.”
She looked bright and cheerful.
“Can I not do something for you?” asked Fanny. “I might brush your hair, I often do mamma’s.”
“If it would not trouble you—Essie does it in the morning, and I generally manage it in the afternoon. But I am afraid—”
“No,” returned Fan cordially, divining the delicate fear. She took up the brush and soon had it in order.
Usually Miss Lucy walked about without any assistance, but being somewhat weak now, she had to help herself with a cane which she always kept in her room. Fan tried to anticipate her wants, and she was ready so soon that she rang the bell for her brother, who came to assist her down stairs.
“This is our nephew, Mr. Ogden;” announced Miss Churchill, “Miss Endicott.”
Fan remembered seeing him at church occasionally. He was about twenty-two, and had matured considerably in a year. He was medium height, with a rather handsome, rollicking face. There was a laugh in his hazel eyes, in his curly chestnut hair, and it seemed to play hide and seek about his mouth, the upper lip being shaded by a soft brown moustache.
“Ah, Miss Endicott,—though I ought to know you without a formal presentation, only I could not save your life I suppose if I were not introduced. How are you, Aunt Lucy? Why you have roses, actually! I thought from Aunt Essie’s letter that you must be a pale shadow!”
“The roses are in your honor, and not very durable. I am glad to see you, but oh how you have—changed!”