‘Asleep, but you shall see him; and how is Ada? and all of them? why, Claude, how well you look! Papa, let me help you to take off your greatcoat—you are cold—will you have a fire?’
Never had Lily heard Eleanor say so much in a breath, or seen her eye so bright, or her smile so ready, yet, when she entered the drawing-room, she saw that Mrs. Hawkesworth was still the Eleanor of old. In contrast with the splendid furniture of the apartments, a pile of shirts was on the table, Eleanor’s well-known work-basket on the floor, and the ceaseless knitting close at hand.
Much news was exchanged in the few minutes that elapsed before Eleanor carried off her sister to her room, indulging her by the way with a peep at little Harry, and one kiss to his round red cheek as he lay asleep in his little bed. It was not Eleanor’s fault that she did not entirely dress Lily, and unpack her wardrobe; but Lilias liked to show that she could manage for herself; and Eleanor’s praise of her neat arrangements gave her as much pleasure as in days of yore.
The evening passed very happily. Eleanor’s heart was open, she was full of enjoyment at meeting those she loved, and the two sisters sat long together in the twilight, talking over numerous subjects, all ending in Beechcroft or the baby.
Yet when Lily awoke the next morning her awe of Eleanor began to return, and she felt like a child just returned to school. She was, however, mistaken; Eleanor assumed no authority, she treated Lily as her equal, and thus made her feel more like a woman than she had ever done before. Lily thought either that Eleanor was much altered, or that in her folly she must have fancied her far more cold and grave than she really was. She had, however, no time for studying her character; shopping and sight-seeing filled up most of her time, and the remainder was spent in resting, and in playing with little Henry.
One evening, when Mr. Mohun and Claude were dining out, Lilias was left alone with Mr. and Mrs. Hawkesworth. Lily was very tired, but she worked steadily at marking Eleanor’s pocket-handkerchiefs, until her sister, seeing how weary she was, made her lie down on the sofa.
‘Here is a gentleman who is tired too,’ said Eleanor, dancing the baby; ‘we will carry you off, sir, and leave Aunt Lily to go to sleep.’
‘Aunt Lily is not so tired as that,’ said Lily; ‘pray keep him.’
‘It is quite bedtime,’ said Eleanor, in her decided tone, and she carried him off.
Lilias took up the knitting which she had laid down, and began to study the stitches. ‘I should like this feathery pattern,’ said she, ‘(if it did not remind me so much of the fever); but, by the bye, Frank, have you completed Master Henry’s outfit? I looked forward to helping to choose his pretty little things, but I see no preparation but of stockings.’