"This morning, my dear. When you are a little stronger he is going to bring his mother to pay you a visit. Why, Marigold, you have made more friends in the few months you have been here than in the years you spent in London. Do you remember how you came against your will, almost; and how difficult you found it to believe that your duty lay here? Yet you found love and friendship awaiting you, and have been the means of softening your aunts' hearts towards your father and me!"
Marigold remained silent, her heart too full for words.
"I shall be obliged to leave you shortly," her mother continued, "for I must return to the boys; but you will soon see me again, and ere long we shall be living once more under the same roof."
"Oh, how I am longing to see the boys!" Marigold cried.
"And they are longing quite as much to see you, my darling! You will find them both grown. It seems to me that Rupert gets more like his father every day."
"Have you noticed father's likeness, when he was a little boy, on the dining-room wall?" Marigold inquired.
"Yes. What do you think your aunts are going to do? They are going to have a copy made of the original likeness, and give it to me."
"Oh, mother, how good of them! How glad I am! Aunt Mary thought of that, I am sure!"
"You are quite wrong! It was your Aunt Pamela!"
Marigold was a little low-spirited after her mother had returned to London; but her aunts strove to cheer her by assuring her Mrs. Holcroft would soon be back again—perhaps before Christmas.