“Mrs. Poynsett!” with infinite wonder.
“Oh yes, all this has really brought out much more power of activity in her. You know it was said that there was more damage to the nervous system than anything else, and the shock has done her good. Besides, Miles is so much less timid about her than dear Raymond, who always handled her like a cracked teapot, and never having known much of any other woman, did not understand what was good for her.”
“Miles has more pith in him than ever poor old Raymond had,” said Phil. “Poor old Poynsett, I used to think he wanted to be spoony on you, Joan, if he had only known his own mind. If he had, I suppose he would have been alive now!”
“What a pleasing situation for Jenny!” Herbert could not help muttering.
“Much better than running after ostriches in the wilderness,” quoth Philip. “You ride them double, don’t you?”
“Two little negro boys at a time,” replied Jenny, “according to the nursery-book. Will you come and try, Phil?”
“You don’t mean to go out?”
“I don’t know,” said Jenny; “it depends on how mamma is, and how Edith gets on.”
Philip gave a long whistle of dismay. Herbert looked at him wistfully, longing to hear him utter some word of congratulation or sympathy with his sister; but none was forthcoming. Philip had disliked the engagement originally—never had cared for Archie Douglas, and was not melted now that Jenny was more valuable than ever. She knew him too well to expect it of him, and did not want to leave him to vex Herbert by any expression of his opinion on the matter, and on this account, as well as on that of the fatigue she saw on her patient’s features, she refused his kind offer of keeping guard while she went in the afternoon to church, adding that Herbert must rest, as Mrs. Duncombe was coming afterwards to take leave of him.
Philip shrugged his shoulders in horror, and declared that he should not return again till that was over; but he should look in again before he went home to settle about Herbert’s coming to York.