“Mrs. Fludyer is a very nice chatty woman,” observed the mother; “and she talked of her beautiful country-seat at Farnwood Hall. I think it would do me good to go there, Olive.”
“Well, you know she asked you, dear mamma.”
“Yes; but only for courtesy. She would scarcely be troubled with a guest so helpless as I,” said Mrs. Rothesay, half sighing.
In a moment Olive was by her side, talking away, at first softly, and then luring her on to smiles with a merry tale,—how Mr. Fludyer, when the picture came home, wanted to have the three elder Fludyers painted in a row behind “Charity,” that thus the allegorical picture might make a complete family group. “He also sent to know if I couldn't paint his horse 'Beauty,' and one or two greyhounds also, in the same picture. What a comical idea of Art this country squire must have!”
“My dear, every one is not so clever as you,” said the mother. “I like Mrs. Fludyer very much, because, whenever she came to Woodford Cottage about the picture, she used to talk to me so kindly.”
“And she has asked after you in all her letters since she went home. So she must be a good creature: and I, too, will like her very much indeed, because she likes my sweet mamma.”
The determination was soon called into exercise; for the next half-hour, to the surprise of all parties, Mrs. Fludyer appeared.
She assigned no reason for her visit, except that being again in town, she had chosen to drive down to Woodford Cottage. She talked for half-an-hour in her mild, limpid way; and then, when the arrival of one of Olive's models broke the quiet leisure of the painting-room, she rose.
“Nay, Miss Rothesay, do not quit your easel; Miss Van-brugh will accompany me through the garden, and besides, I wish to speak to her about her clematis. We cannot make them grow in S—shire; the Hall is perhaps too cold and bleak.”
“Ah, how I love a clear bracing air!” said Mrs. Rothesay, with the restlessness peculiar to all invalids—and she had been a greater invalid than usual this summer.