"Mrs. Mulford has been so good to me," she said. "She is treating me more like a sister than a guest, and I am not used to such kind care."
Although I was fascinated by Janet's smile and tone, I was again surprised at her sudden change of demeanor. She seemed bright and almost happy. What was the secret of a nature that could thus apparently throw off the effects of a recent dreadful experience and assume the air of a gentle society girl without a care in the world?
But I met her on her own grounds, and, shaking hands cordially, I expressed my pleasure at seeing her under my roof-tree.
She suddenly became more serious, and said thoughtfully:
"I don't see what I can do, or where I can live. I can't go back to those rooms across the hall"—she gave a slight shudder—"and I can't live with Cousin George now, and I can't live alone. Perhaps Milly Waring would take me in for a time."
"Miss Pembroke," I said, "I am, as you know, your counsel, and as such I must have a very serious talk with you."
"But not now," broke in Laura; "Miss Pembroke is not going to be bothered by any more serious talk until after she has eaten something. Luncheon is all ready, and we were only waiting for you to come, to have it served."
I was quite willing to defer the conversation, and, moreover, was quite ready myself for rest and refreshment.
Notwithstanding the surcharged atmosphere, the meal was a pleasant one. Laura's unfailing tact prevented any awkwardness, and as we all three seemed determined not to refer to the events of the morning, the conversation was light and agreeable, though desultory.
"I wish I had asked Mr. Lawrence to come over to luncheon, too," said Laura. "Poor man, he must be nearly starved."