"Small indeed!" thought Mrs. Churchill, but she would not have said so for the world. She was far too much of the real lady to be able to take upon herself any fine-lady airs of superiority, and then she began to interest herself strangely in her daughter's friend. Mrs. Churchill would have been very much displeased could she have heard herself called impulsive; indeed, it was only in a certain way that she was so. Her impulses were generally inspired by some tolerably solid reasons. In this case her keen eye had instantly detected the lady, also the absence of all those qualities which go to make up the intriguante. This set her at ease at once, while the gentleness, the evident weakness, the traces of profound suffering, moved her kind heart as it had not been moved for long. She had not been in the cottage half an hour before, with true motherliness of intent, she made up her mind to take Mrs. Grey in hand.
"I am glad to hear Adèle has been of any service to you," was her answer to Margaret, cordially spoken, and then she looked at Mrs. Grey as she had looked at her daughter. "I am sorry to hear of this delicacy, Mrs. Grey; you certainly look far from well, but I think so lonely a place as this would kill me in a few months. Why not try a change—a little gayety, for instance? Now, if you would allow me to return your hospitality to my daughter by taking you with us to Scarborough, I really think you would find the change would do you good. Then a little cod-liver-oil, quinine and port-wine, steel—But perhaps you are taking some of these?"
Margaret smiled: "Thank you very much for your kind interest in my health. No, I take none of these things, and I scarcely think they could do me good. As to a change, you are very good to propose it; I fear at present I could enjoy nothing. I could not enter into general society; I should only be a burden on your hands."
Mrs. Churchill looked across at Margaret's pale face and warmed into sympathy and interest: "But this is a dreadful state of things, Mrs. Grey. Nothing so insidious, I can assure you, as the creeping on of general ill-health; you ought to do something. Have you consulted a doctor?"
"A doctor could do me no good. My dear Mrs. Churchill, pray don't distress yourself on my account; I think you know enough of my history to understand me when I say that my illness is far more mental than physical. These weeks, which are bringing me hope, have been almost more trying to me than the years that went before."
"And how long is this state of thing to be supposed to last?" cried the impulsive and warm-hearted lady. "Now, Mrs. Grey, will you take my advice? I am many years older than you—old enough, I imagine, to be your mother. You look incredulous. Well, have it your own way. They say I bear my years well, and I believe that in this case the on dits are more correct than usual. You will allow, at least, that I have larger experience of the world than you. Shall I give you my secret—the true elixir of life, my dear? Never allow yourself to feel too deeply. Feelings have been the ruin of some of the finest constitutions."
"But what if they cannot be helped?" said Margaret, who was smiling through a half inclination to tears.
"My dear (child I was about to say, but I don't wish to offend you), an effort should be made, for what does all the crying over spilt milk mean?" This was a favorite theme with Mrs. Churchill. "Why, as I have told Adèle a thousand times, to fret one's self into a premature death because things don't go altogether as one could wish is clearly nothing more nor less than flying in the face of Providence; for how did we get our health and strength, and all the rest of it? and if we acknowledge that these are gifts of Providence, ought we to trifle with them? Come now, Mrs. Grey, what have you to say?" Her voice softened as she looked at the pale face and fragile form. "You must excuse me, my dear. You see I am given to speaking my mind, and I am interested in you; so it comes naturally somehow to speak to you as I might to this wilful little girl of mine." For Adèle had come in during the latter part of Mrs. Churchill's harangue. She was listening with real pleasure to the energetic words, for she knew her mother well enough to be aware that she never took the trouble of lecturing in this manner any one who had not first made great way in her affections.
"This is mamma's pet subject, Margaret," she said; "what have you to say? I always find her arguments unanswerable, but then they never converted me."
Margaret smiled: "I have to say, Adèle, that your mother is perfectly right, that I deserve every word of her lecture, and that I intend to make an effort in the way of getting rid of these tiresome feelings and becoming strong again."