"No, no, that will not do!" cried Annette impatiently. "She shall not come to see me; she shall come to live here, to be like myself in everything, and she shall be my sister. I never had a mother or a sister, you know," continued the girl pleadingly; "and I have very, very seldom in all my life been able to do anything exactly as I wished. You won't oppose me in that; I know you will let me have my own way, won't you? My George is Paul's dearest friend, you know; and Paul's Daisy shall be mine, though she is so handsome and so clever. I feel she will love me, and--and--we shall never part until I go to George's home, and she goes to Paul's; and we shall be married on the same day."
When George Wainwright, with the full sanction of the subjugated Captain, and congratulations as suave as she could bring herself to make them on the part of Mrs. Derinzy, sought Annette's presence, in order to tell her to what an entirely satisfactory conclusion the family council had come, he found Annette on her knees beside Mrs. Stothard, her smiling face upturned to the features which had lost all their sternness, and the grave, ordinarily inflexible woman weeping tears of gladness.
* * * * *
Dr. Wainwright found himself about this time in an unusual position; and though he liked it very much, and was conscious that he fulfilled all the duties which it entailed to perfection, he had no desire to prolong its responsibilities. The docility of the Derinzys was not to be surpassed; and the grave elderly physician became the referee of two pairs of lovers, who looked to him as a beneficent genius, whose judgment was equal to his generosity. This was pleasant, but it cost trouble and time; and though the Doctor did not grudge the one, of the other he had none to spare, and he was not sorry when the time fixed for the double wedding arrived. Annette had had her way and her wish; Daisy had come to remain in the house with her; and even the sensitive girl, to whom congenial companionship and love of her kind were so strange, could not fail to be content with the affection she inspired in the so-differently-reared young woman, for whom her good breeding, her refined, her perfect ladyism, had an indescribable and attaching charm.
The Doctor's cases were near their dispersion. All the arrangements had been made, including one whereby Captain and Mrs. Derinzy were to be comfortably bestowed in foreign parts. Annette had not yet learned the truth about her mother, with Madame Vaughan's concurrence. Dr. Wainwright had made the strange communication to her; and he received the proof of the correctness of his belief in her perfect sanity in the reasonable motherly solicitude which she exhibited, the willingness to wait, to put off the so-long-deferred happiness of seeing her child, rather than risk the least injury to Annette's health. There must be no surprises, Dr. Wainwright had said; no scenes, if such could possibly be avoided; and she understood and acquiesced at once. The news had been to her like a recall from the borders of death. She had rallied almost into health; her dark eyes were full of bright content, and the wistful look had left her face. How keenly Dr. Wainwright felt the extent and importance of the error he had been led into by accepting the fiat of his predecessor upon the "case" of Madame Vaughan, when he found the poor prisoner of so many years perfectly tolerant of the error, and gently grateful for her secluded life!
"I have been as happy as it was possible for me to be without my child," she said; "and George has been like a son to me. All has been well."
It was the night before the double wedding, which was to be a very quiet affair. The brides were inspecting their bridal dresses, displayed upon Annette's bed. They formed a pretty picture, amid the shiny white, the graceful flowers, the suggestive trifles of ornament and luxury around. Daisy was incomparably the handsomer; but her newly-found health and happiness had much beautified Annette.
"Mamma has told us what she is going to do at last," said Daisy. "She has settled it all with Dr. Wainwright, and her mind is quite made up. It seems Miss Marshall, the lady superintendent of the Doctor's asylum, is going to be married to the resident doctor, and resigns her post. Mamma is going to take it; she likes the work" (Daisy spoke quickly, and with her eyes averted from Annette), "and Dr. Wainwright thinks she will be invaluable to him. So she is to go there to-morrow afternoon. I don't quite like it; but she is determined, and the omnipotent doctor well pleased."
"It is an occupation in which she will be happy and most useful," said Annette; and she kissed her friend gravely. "I know how fitted for it she is. It would be well for all the afflicted ones, if such care and judgment as hers might always come to their aid."
The conversation of the two girls was interrupted at this point, perhaps to their mutual relief, by the entrance of a servant who brought Daisy a letter. She did not recognise the hand. It was not Paul's; whom, indeed, she had parted with just an hour before. She glanced first at the signature; it was "John Merton." The brief letter contained these words: