“He bears everything. Strength comes up out of his great lovingness. But, oh! I sometimes long that he may never have any more sorrows.”
“My poor child!” said Mrs. Arnott, putting her arm round her niece’s waist.
Ethel rested her head on her shoulder. “Aunt Flora! Aunt Flora! If any words could tell what Margaret has been ever since we were left. Oh, don’t make me talk or think of ourselves without her. It is wrong to wish. And when you see her, that dear face of hers will make you happy in the present. Then,” added Ethel, not able to leave off with such a subject, “you have our Norman to see.”
“Ah! Norman’s project is too delightful to us; but I fear what it may be to your father.”
“He gives dear Norman, as his most precious gift, the flower and pride of us all.”
“But, Ethel, I am quite frightened at Miss Rivers’s looks. Is it possible that—”
“Aunt Flora,” broke in Ethel, “don’t say a word against it. The choicest goods wear the best; and whatever woman can do, Meta Rivers can. Norman is a great tall fellow, as clever as possible, but perfectly feckless. If you had him there alone, he would be a bee without a queen.”
“Well, but—”
“Listen,” continued Ethel. “Meta is a concentration of spirit and energy, delights in practical matters, is twice the housewife I am, and does all like an accomplishment. Between them, they will make a noble missionary—”
“But she looks—”