He attained his object in making Arthur smile; and Violet presently returning, they sat on opposite sides of the fire, and held one of the happiest conversations of their lives. Violet told the whole story of the fire, which seemed as new to Arthur as to Percy.
‘Why did I never hear this before?’ he asked.
‘You heard it at the time,’ said Violet.
Recollections came across Arthur, and he turned away his head, self-convicted of having thought the women made a tedious history, and that he could not be bored by attending. Percy’s way of listening, meanwhile, was with his foot on the fender, his elbow on his knee, his chin resting on his hand, his bright gray eyes fixed full on Violet, with a beaming look of gladness, and now and then a nod of assent, as if no heroism on Theodora’s part could surpass his expectations, for he could have told it all beforehand. However, his turn came, when Violet described her last expedition after the chess-board, and the injury it had entailed.
‘Now, now, you don’t say so!’ said he, stammering with eagerness, and starting up.
‘Poor dear, she hardly knew what she did,’ said Violet.
‘I remember,’ said Arthur. ‘That was the time of the delusion that Percy had taken up with his present cousin-in-law.’
Violet blushed. She was too much ashamed of ever having had the idea to bear to recall it; and when Arthur explained, Percy shuddered, and exclaimed, ‘No, I thank you, Violet! you knew enough against me; but you need not have thought me quite come to that!’
On the morrow, Percy came in as the children’s lessons were concluded. He studied Theodora’s face tenderly, and hoped that she had rested. She laughed, and called herself perfectly well; and, indeed, her eyes were as large and as bright as they ought to me, and she had discovered, that morning, that her black locks would make a much more respectable show if properly managed. He would not have mistaken her if she had looked as she did now three weeks ago.
After they had talked for some time, Theodora said, ‘We must not talk away the whole morning; I must write to papa.’