“Poor little girl! she has a dull life,” said Edgar. “I wish she had more companions.”
“She is beginning to grow up.”
“She is. She ought soon to be brought more forward, I suppose. But we never see anyone, or do anything. I don’t see much of Geraldine—often—and she is kept very tight at her lessons.”
“It’s dull for you, too,” said his cousin compassionately.
“Oh, I don’t care when I get out and about a bit.”
“My uncle doesn’t look well, I think?”
“Doesn’t he?” said Edgar quickly. “Ah, I haven’t much opportunity of judging.”
There was a touch of bitterness in his voice, and a look that was not quite pleasant in the bright hazel eyes, that were usually wonderfully cheery, considering how much their owner had to suffer, and keen as a hawk’s into the bargain.
“I say, Edgar,” said James Cunningham, sitting down on the wall near him, and speaking low, “people do get into the way of going on and taking things for granted. It’s a long time since the subject was mentioned, but do you really think my uncle doesn’t know where poor Alwyn is?”
“I don’t know,” said Edgar, flushing. “I’ve no reason to think he does.”