“It was not love,” said Robina.
“Or only for the child,” said Bernard; “and that would have been a dangerous speculation.”
“The child or something else has been very good for her,” said Lance; “I never saw her so gentle and quiet.”
“And with the same charm about her as ever,” said Bernard. “I don’t wonder that all the fellows fall in love with her. I hope she won’t make havoc among Clement’s sick clergy.”
“I suppose we ought to go up and fulfil the duties of society,” said Robina, rising. “But first, Bear, tell me how is Phyllis?”
“Pretty fair,” he answered. “Resting with her mother, but she has never been quite the thing of late. I almost hope Sir Ferdinand will see his way to keeping us at home, or we shall have to leave our little Lily.”
Interruption occurred as a necessary summons to “Mr. Mayor,” and the paternal conclave was broken up, and had to adjourn to Gertrude’s tea in the old sitting-room.
“I see!” exclaimed Agatha, as she looked at the party of children at their supplementary table. “I see what the likeness is in that child. Don’t you, Dolores? Is it not to Wilfred Merrifield?”
“There is very apt to be a likeness between sandy people, begging your pardon, Angel,” said Gertrude.
“Yes, the carroty strain is apt to crop up in families,” said Lance, “like golden tabbies, as you ladies call your stable cats.”