“I have not done much, I am sure.”
“Oh, Aunt Lucy, have you a protege, or has Miss Endicott kindly consented to rule you for the nonce? Will my occupation be gone?”
“What nonsense, Winthrop! Miss Endicott came over to spend the day, taking pity on me. I have been so forlornly lonesome of late.”
“Then I have arrived just in the nick of time, if that word has any meaning or relation to anything above or under the waters. Let me feel your pulse. Quite reduced, I must admit. Beef tea and camomile flowers three times a day. A long walk morning and evening. Cheerful society—a new bonnet—and—but try that first. My knowledge is not exhausted.”
“Could you take the ride, think, Lucy?” asked Miss Churchill. “Kenton we will have the large carriage and all go.”
“What conspiracy have you planned?” inquired Winthrop.
“A harmless drive,” returned Miss Lucy mirthfully. “If it looks suspicious we will leave you at home in Hugo’s charge.”
Hugo was a handsome English hound, as aristocratic as his master.
They all asked and answered questions, drawing Fan within their beautiful circle by the fine tact of thorough breeding. She was so gay and charming, and withal natural without any aiming at position or special notice. Indeed she and Mr. Ogden had two or three passages of sharpness between them that made their elders laugh.
It came supper time so soon, that Miss Lucy declared gaily she had been defrauded; the day certainly was shorter than usual.