"There shall be no more of it, Elsie," she said, after a long silence, during which Elsie had shivered herself quiet once more. "I ought to have borne this trouble alone from the first."
"That's a nice darling!" cried Elsie. "Nothing will happen, I am sure of it. Just hope for the best; look at everything as settled and over with. Things don't keep coming up to one as they do in a novel."
Elizabeth said no more, she stood leaning against the window frame and watched Elsie as she arranged her ringlets before the glass, and called back the brilliant smiles which softened her face into something so youthful and pretty. Then they heard a voice from below, which made them both start.
"It's Grantley," said Elsie. "It sounds so odd to hear his voice! Open the door, Bessie; I am ready."
She ran to the head of the stairs, while Elizabeth followed slowly.
"Are you calling, Grant?" demanded Elsie, looking down at him as he stood at the foot of the stairs.
"Calling! I should think so! Are you both going to stay up there for ever? Dinner is ready."
"And so are we," cried Elsie, "and coming, Mr. Impatience."
Downstairs she tripped, humming a tune and making a little spring into her brother's arms when she reached the lower step.
She was such a dainty little thing, so light and graceful in all her movements, with such childish ways, such power of persuasion and coquetry, so light-hearted and frivolous, that it was quite impossible not to love her and treat her as if she were some blithe fairy, that would be frightened out of sight by a harsh word or look.