‘On Amabel’s account? No, poor thing, I don’t blame her, for she must have been quite helpless; but it was exactly like my aunt, to have but one idea at a time. Charles used to be the idol, and now it is Amy, I suppose.’
‘If anything could have made it more intolerable for me, it would have been detaining them there for my sake, at such a time.’
‘Ah! I felt a great deal for you. You must have been very sorry for that poor little Amy. She was very kind in writing while you were ill. How did she contrive, poor child? I suppose you took all the head work for her?’
‘I? I was nothing but a burden.’
‘Were you still so very ill?’ said Margaret, tenderly. ‘I am sure you must have been neglected.’
‘Would that I had!’ muttered Philip, so low that she did not catch the words. Then aloud,—‘No care could have been greater than was taken for me. It was as if no one had been ill but myself, and the whole thought of every one had been for me.’
‘Then Amabel managed well, poor thing! We do sometimes see those weak soft characters—’
‘Sister!’ he interrupted.’
‘Have not you told me so yourself?’
‘I was a fool, or worse,’ said he, in a tone of suffering. ‘No words can describe what she proved herself.’