‘I do not think Arthur knew the circumstances; they have never been much talked of. I do not know whether you would care to listen to a long story; but I should like you, as far as may be, to understand her, and consider her as your sister, who would have been very fond of you.’
‘And do you like to talk of it?’
‘That I do, now,’ said John; her delicate, respectful sympathy so opening his heart, that what had been an effort became a relief.
‘I should be so glad. Baby is asleep, and I came down to stay with you. It is very kind of you.’
‘You are very kind to listen,’ said John. ‘I must go a long way back, to the time when I lost my little sisters.’
‘Had you any more sisters?’ said Violet, startled.
‘Two; Anna and another Theodora. They died at four and two years old, within two days of each other, while my father and mother were abroad with my aunt.’
‘What was their illness, poor little things?’ anxiously asked Violet.
‘I never knew. We all of us have, more or less, a West Indian constitution; that accounts for anything.’
‘How old were you? Do you remember them?’