Part of Doris's letter runs thus:—
"We had a bad passage across, at least so aunt says. I didn't feel it a bit though. Uncle disappeared mysteriously, and as he looked rather pale when he reappeared on our reaching Calais, I strongly suspected he was not very flourishing either. I have made a grand discovery, however, through this bad weather. Nothing more nor less than the reason why aunt will never take off her bonnet unless she has a cap at hand to put on immediately. Aunt, I must tell you, very soon expressed her intention of going down into the cabin, so I went with her and made her as comfortable as circumstances would permit. It was such a dreadfully close, stuffy atmosphere that I was thankful to get up into the air again. After a time I thought I ought to go down and see how poor aunty was getting on; so after a good deal of stumbling and floundering (for the boat was rolling very much) I at last managed to get down, and there I found her in a truly pitiable state. She had been dreadfully ill, but so it seems had been nearly all the other people, and I suppose the stewardess could not pay much attention to so many, for I found aunt in a miserable state, half on and half off the sofa, and looking as pale as death. 'O, Doris child!' she gasped faintly, 'if ever I get out of this boat alive I will never go into another, if I have to live all my life in France!' Well, I raised her up and placed her a little more comfortably, and in doing this her bonnet fell off, and—you girls won't believe me, perhaps, but I daresay mother knows—there, as plain to see as anything, was a little bald patch, about as big as half-a-crown, on the top of her head! Poor aunt! she was in far too great misery to think about such trifles then, and only told me to put her feet a little higher and to bring her smelling-bottle. But I shall always think of it whenever anyone asks her to take her bonnet off! By the by, aunt says she knows Mr. Ferrars quite well. She calls him 'A very estimable young man!' How dreadful! She says, too, we may meet him somewhere or other abroad. He told her he was going to 'knock about a little' on the Continent. The expression did not come spontaneously from aunt; I dragged it out of her, under protest! I wonder if we shall see him!"
Mrs. Merivale folds up the letter. "I wonder if they will!" she says.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
BRIGHTER DAYS.
Two years have sped quickly, and it is once more a warm, lovely day in June. The French windows of the Rookery sitting-room are wide open, letting in the still, summer air, and Mrs. Merivale and Honor, both with their work, are seated just inside, so as to get full benefit of any little fitful breeze which may spring up, without exposing themselves to the glare of the sunlit garden.
Yes, two years have flown since Doris left home to go abroad with her aunt, and her mother and sister are talking over a letter which they have received from her that morning, and which, with two others, is lying in the former's lap.
Honor is a little taller than when we last saw her, though not much; but her figure has filled out, making her look more womanly, though still small and slight altogether. She has still the same quaint little oval face, and the same steadfast, earnest look in her soft brown eyes; but, with the exception of the two little straight lines between her brows, the anxious, care-worn look has gone from it, and in its place there is a happy, contented expression, which her mother looks upon with thankfulness. The two years have also changed Mrs. Merivale, though not perhaps so much in appearance as character.
She has to a great extent lost that fretful nervousness and selfishness which, before her husband's death, and, indeed, for some time after, had seemed to be growing upon her. Though still feeble in health her disposition has grown more cheerful, and she has become more self-reliant than of old. Honor has unconsciously taken to consulting her more in the management of their household affairs, and although she still takes all the active part upon herself, she often finds her mother's advice of great value now.
To such matters as banging doors, creaking boots, loud voices, &c., which used formerly to "jar" upon her nerves, she has become almost impervious, whilst to be "completely prostrated" is a calamity of rare occurrence, excepting on occasions of real and genuine nervous headaches.