Did he know what a mountain there was in her throat when he seemed to think it so easy to be natural?
She found him leading her into a darkened room, and heard his cheerful tones saying, “I have brought Ethel to you!”
“Ethel! oh!” said a low, weak voice, with a sound as of expecting a treat, and Ethel was within a curtain, where she began, in the dimness, to see something white moving, and her hands were clasped by two long thin ones. “There!” said Dr. May, “now, if you will be good, I will leave you alone. Nurse is by to look after you, and you know she always separates naughty children.”
Either the recurrence to nursery language, or the mere sisterly touch after long separation, seemed to annihilate all the imaginary mutual dread, and, as Ethel bent lower and lower, and Flora’s arms were round her, the only feeling was of being together again, and both at once made the childish gesture of affection, and murmured the old pet names of “Flossy,” and “King,” that belonged to almost forgotten days, when they were baby sisters, then kissed each other again.
“I can’t see you,” said Ethel, drawing herself up a little. “Why, Flora, you look like a little white shadow!”
“I have had such weak eyes,” said Flora, “and this dim light is comfortable. I see your old sharp face quite plain.”
“But what can you do here?”
“Do? Oh, dear Ethel, I have not had much of doing. Papa says I have three years’ rest to make up.”
“Poor Flora!” said Ethel; “but I should have thought it tiresome, especially for you.”
“I have only now been able to think again,” said Flora; “and you will say I am taking to quoting poetry. Do you remember some lines in that drama that Norman admired so much?”