"There," she said, "that's better, isn't it? I won't pull the blind down altogether, mother, for that would keep out the fresh air, and you know the doctors said the sea breeze would be your best tonic. I do think this is a lovely place, don't you?"
Mrs. Fowler agreed indifferently; and her little daughter continued, "Such a beautiful view we have right over the sea. And doesn't the village look pretty, and the old grey church? There are such a quantity of jackdaws in the tower. Mother, do you know, from my bedroom window, I can see the cottage where that poor lame girl lives? When you are strong enough, I'll take you to visit Salome."
"I don't want to see her, Margaret. I don't like looking at deformed people, and I cannot think why you should feel so much interest in this Salome."
"I have seen her several times now, and I like her so much. The Vicar has told me a lot about her, too. She lost her mother five years ago, poor girl!"
Margaret paused, and glanced a trifle wistfully at the daintily-clad figure on the sofa, wondering if she was lame like Salome, whether her mother would cease to care for her altogether. Mrs. Fowler never evinced much affection for her daughter, whatever her feelings may have been, though she was pleased that she was growing up a pretty little girl, and took an interest in dressing her becomingly. But Gerald was her favourite of the two children, and upon him she lavished most of her love. She was fond of her husband, though she stood in awe of him. He was kind and attentive to her, but often grew impatient at the persistent way in which she indulged their little son.
Mrs. Fowler had led a gay life in London for many years; but latterly, she had been in very indifferent health, and after an attack of severe illness, which had left her nerves in a shattered condition, Mr. Fowler had insisted on shutting up their house in town, and settling in the country. He had accordingly taken Greystone, and dismissing their old servants had engaged new ones, who received their orders from himself instead of from their mistress.
During the first few weeks of her residence at Greystone, Mrs. Fowler had indeed been too ill to superintend the household; and though she was now better, she was far from strong, and was glad not to be troubled about anything. Margaret was very sorry for her mother, whose sufferings were apparent to everyone, for she started at the slightest unexpected sound, and the least worry brought on the most distressing headache.
"Would you like me to read to you, mother?" the little girl inquired.
"No, thank you, Margaret. What is the time?"
"Half-past three."