‘I do not know where he is,’ said Theodora. ‘Can I do anything for you? Oh! I beg your pardon; I had forgotten it was time to read to you.’
‘You know I always hoped that you would not make it a burden.’
‘If you knew the relief it is to be of any sort of use,’ returned she, hastily setting his chair, and fetching the books.
Perhaps her attention wandered while she read, for they had hardly finished before she looked up and said, ‘That always puts me in mind of Arthur’s wife. The ornament of a meek and quiet spirit is so entirely her adorning—her beauty only an accessory.’
‘Yes; I wish I knew her,’ said Mr. Martindale.
‘Oh! how I wish she was here!’ sighed Theodora.
‘For any special reason?’
‘Yes; I want her to soften and help me. She seems to draw and smooth away the evil, and to keep me from myself. Nothing is so dreary where she is.’
‘I should not have expected to hear you, at your age, and with your prospects, talk of dreariness.’
‘That is all over,’ said Theodora. ‘I have told him that it cannot be. I am glad, for one reason, that I shall not seem to deceive you any more. Has papa told you what he thinks my history!’