"I know somebody who is pretty nearly as decided in his opinions on a similar subject," she hinted.
"Come, now, not quite," protested he.
"Well, he's a great deal older than Mr. Cameron, and consequently ought to have a great deal more sense."
"And his daughter snubs him too much—I wonder if Miss Mona has as sharp a tongue?"
"I would advise you not to rouse it," was Minnie's reply, as she flitted away.
Next day the mid-summer holidays commenced, much to Minnie's joy, for now she could sit by her friend many hours during the day, cheering her in her intervals of consciousness, and watching and soothing her at other times—thereby not only greatly aiding her slow recovery, but also rendering her aunt inestimable service in her present harassing position.
Mabel's great danger did not lie so much in the ruptured blood-vessel, as in a sharp attack of brain fever, which had followed upon her late excitement, and the slackening of the strain she had borne so long.
She was yet very far from being out of danger, but there was scarcely so much need for apprehension, and even such a slight crumb of comfort was eagerly caught at.
Minnie was sitting beside Mabel's bed on the third day of the holidays, when she heard a step outside the door. The handle was turned noiselessly, and Mona came in on tip-toes, fearful of creating the least sound.
"Miss Chartres didn't tell me you were here," she said, her voice trembling. "How is she?"