"Because you were trying to live without God," Mrs. Wallis told her, gravely; "you were searching for happiness where it was not to be found."
"I always wanted to be rich," Celia confessed, "but lately I've seen that even riches wouldn't make me happy. I've been all wrong, somehow."
Swiftly the months slipped by, bringing news from Crumleigh of Miss Mary Pring's marriage to Mr. Cole, and of the rebuilding of the east wing of the Moat House; and nearly every week a letter came from Lulu Tillotson to one or the other of the girls. These letters were characteristic of their writer; it almost seemed on reading them that Lulu herself could be heard speaking.
"Father and I went to Miss Mary Pring's wedding," ran one of these letters to Celia; "we were the only invited guests, except Sir Jasper Amery. Yes, your uncle was actually there, looking quite smiling, and he hadn't to church till then since his son's death! Miss Pring gave her niece away, and wore a new gown for the occasion—I think Miss Mary must have chosen it, for it was like nothing I had ever seen Miss Pring wear before, and actually suited her." Here followed a lengthy description of the gown; then Lulu proceeded: "Lawrence Puttenham's father married them, and the Vicar looked almost handsome, and Miss Mary positively lovely—I never even thought her pretty, did you?"
In another letter Lulu wrote:
"I'm to go to boarding-school after Christmas and father has decided to send me with you, Celia. Oh, I am glad! By the way, I've quite given up reading light literature, and, what do you think? Miss Pring says I've greatly improved of late! There, you can take her word, can't you? Seriously, though, I do believe I'm a different sort of girl from what I used to be; I hope it doesn't sound conceited to say that, but I do try to be less selfish, and think what father will like, and I'm ever so much happier than I was when you knew me first. Please give my love to Mrs. Wallis. I don't think she ever approved of me quite, though she was always so kind; but perhaps she may like me better when we meet next."
"When we meet next!" sighed Joy, after her sister had finished reading Lulu's letter aloud. "I don't suppose I, for one, shall ever see Lulu again!" —and for a few moments she looked very doleful indeed.
"You cannot tell that, my dear," Mrs. Wallis returned, with a cheerfulness which was really assumed.
"I get no better, mother," the little girl remarked, sadly.
"No, my dear, you do not; but do not grow faint-hearted."