Mrs Chick herself lost, for a moment, the presence of mind on which she so much prided herself; and remained mute, looking on the beautiful young face that had so long, so steadily, and patiently, been turned towards the little bed. But recovering her voice—which was synonymous with her presence of mind, indeed they were one and the same thing—she replied with dignity:
“Florence, my dear child, your poor Papa is peculiar at times; and to question me about him, is to question me upon a subject which I really do not pretend to understand. I believe I have as much influence with your Papa as anybody has. Still, all I can say is, that he has said very little to me; and that I have only seen him once or twice for a minute at a time, and indeed have hardly seen him then, for his room has been dark. I have said to your Papa, ‘Paul!’—that is the exact expression I used—‘Paul! why do you not take something stimulating?’ Your Papa’s reply has always been, ‘Louisa, have the goodness to leave me. I want nothing. I am better by myself.’ If I was to be put upon my oath to-morrow, Lucretia, before a magistrate,” said Mrs Chick, “I have no doubt I could venture to swear to those identical words.”
Miss Tox expressed her admiration by saying, “My Louisa is ever methodical!”
“In short, Florence,” resumed her aunt, “literally nothing has passed between your poor Papa and myself, until today; when I mentioned to your Papa that Sir Barnet and Lady Skettles had written exceedingly kind notes—our sweet boy! Lady Skettles loved him like a—where’s my pocket handkerchief?”
Miss Tox produced one.
“Exceedingly kind notes, proposing that you should visit them for change of scene. Mentioning to your Papa that I thought Miss Tox and myself might now go home (in which he quite agreed), I inquired if he had any objection to your accepting this invitation. He said, ‘No, Louisa, not the least!’”
Florence raised her tearful eye.
“At the same time, if you would prefer staying here, Florence, to paying this visit at present, or to going home with me—”
“I should much prefer it, aunt,” was the faint rejoinder.
“Why then, child,” said Mrs Chick, “you can. It’s a strange choice, I must say. But you always were strange. Anybody else at your time of life, and after what has passed—my dear Miss Tox, I have lost my pocket handkerchief again—would be glad to leave here, one would suppose.”