"You seem more like a sister to me than Nora or Adelaide," said Mabel one day. "They were both married when I was quite tiny, so I haven't seen a very great deal of them—not having them living in the house, I mean. And Sibyl and Ida at the Rectory are older than I am, too. Francis is the nearest to me—he's seven months younger—but then he's a boy, and that isn't in the least the same as having a girl friend, is it? I couldn't talk secrets to him! Mother says she will invite you as often as your father will spare you, so we can look forward to plenty more delightful times together. We shall call the little blue bedroom your room now, and it will always be ready and waiting for you to come back to it."
This was a very desirable state of affairs to Aldred. She was quite content to be half-adopted by the Farringtons, and to know she was such an acceptable and welcome addition to their household. She had never felt herself of any great importance at her own home, but here she was constantly considered, her opinion being asked and her wishes consulted; and she was well aware that with Mabel, at any rate, her will was almost law. She knew how greatly the rest of the girls at school had envied her this visit, and how it would raise her yet higher in their estimation when she returned to Birkwood. She would certainly have a good excuse in future for taking the lead in her Form, and letting the others plainly realize that they had not had her advantages.
It is at moments like this, when we are complacent with fortune, and think our happiness will never be moved, that Fate sometimes steps in, and with stern hand topples over all our schemes of self-advancement, and threatens us with utter desolation.
In the very last week of Aldred's visit, when she was at the height of enjoyment and gratification, and was beginning to consider herself almost a permanent fixture at the Hall, something happened—something that she might have anticipated, indeed, yet a contingency that had never occurred to her, and therefore as unexpected as unwelcome.
One morning, after the arrival of the post-bag, Mabel came running up to her friend with a look of bright animation on her face.
"From Cousin Marion!" she exclaimed, waving a letter enthusiastically in her hand. "She writes that she's staying at Evington, and wants us to go over and see her. I'm so glad, for I always wanted to introduce you to her."
It was a very innocent remark of Mabel's, but it came upon Aldred like a bolt from the blue. Cousin Marion—the very person of all others in the world whom she most dreaded to meet! The shock was so great that she was obliged to clutch with trembling fingers at the back of a chair, to support herself. On no account must she allow her emotion to be noticed, so she waited for a few seconds until her voice was steady enough to reply.
"Your Cousin Marion! Why, I thought she was in Germany!"
"So she was, and had intended to stay for a year; but the baths did her so much good that the doctor said she was practically cured, and might return to England for the summer, at any rate. I'll read you a piece out of her letter. She says: 'It is ages since I saw you, so ask your mother to bring you on Thursday, and include your heroic little friend in the invitation. I well remember seeing her on the pier at Seaforth, but had not the pleasure of making her acquaintance'—Why, what's the matter, Aldred? Are you ill?"
"I'm afraid I must be bilious this morning, I feel so shaky, and headachy, and queer!"