Mrs. Herbert smiled. “No, my dear Leila, I do not say Charles is by any means perfect; he has faults, still I may say that he is one who has never yet given us cause for serious uneasiness.
“I was sure of that,” Leila answered, “for he always looks as if he could not bear to vex any one; I often wish to ask him to forgive me for what I said: but I don’t know why, I often feel a little shy with Charles, though I like so much to talk to him. I hope it will go off in time, for I should like to be able to tell him every thing I think, just as I do to you; if he had been a little boy I would not have cared to do this, I would only have said little things to make him laugh and to amuse him; so, as Nurse always says, every thing in this world turns out for the best, if we would only remember this, and not fret. But,” she continued, “when I said just now that I told you every thing, I forgot that there is one thing I cannot tell you.”
“And what is that?” Mrs. Herbert inquired. “Why should you be afraid to tell me every thing?”
“I am not afraid,” Leila answered; “but it is not the right time yet to tell. Perhaps I shall be disappointed myself, and then I need not tell you, for it would only make you sorry; but if it comes up it is for you. Now I must go to the conservatory; I go there every morning alone, but don’t ask me why I go.”
Leila stood in the conservatory, earnestly contemplating a flower-pot she held in her hand, till startled by a voice behind her.
“How now, lady bright, gazing on brown earth, and so many beautiful blooming flowers around you?”
She looked up; it was Charles who had entered the conservatory unobserved, and was bending over her shoulder.
“Oh, Charles,” she said, “I am so happy, so very happy; so thankful.”
“Thankful,” he replied; “thankful for small things indeed, for I can see nothing.”
“Nothing! look again, Charles; only look here—don’t you see?”