“If we have to stay any time, Jack says he will come over.”
They did stay, and Jack was as good as his word. Mrs. Hilton did not die, but she lay for months in a critical condition, and her mother mounted guard over the new baby and the three other little people.
Bella meanwhile was amusing herself right royally.
“I’ve been presented and I’m having a perfect, rapturous time.
“And now it’s decided we don’t have to wait quite a whole year—we are going to be married before we come back to America, some time in the summer. Just think of it, Hildegarde! You and I not to meet again till I’m married! Oh, do write and say you’ll love me just as much as ever.”
Then for a time no more long letters, but a shower of happy little notes, that descended with tolerable regularity. After that, the wedding invitation! Ten days’ interval and then two communications by the same mail. The first:
“Dearest Hildegarde:
“Mother and I are just back from a week-end at Tryston. It was rather dull. All the men were immensely distinguished and at least eighty. I was glad to get back to town. Hengler’s Circus has been turned into a skating-rink. We all went to a delightful party there last week. The wife of the Governor-General of Canada skated most wonderfully. I wish I could. Jack didn’t take his eyes off her. Mr. Borisoff has come to London. I hate Mr. Borisoff as much as ever, if not worse.
“I haven’t time for more if I’m to catch this post. But I can’t have you thinking I forget you in my happiness. Besides, I shall be happier when Mr. Borisoff goes back to his fellow-barbarians, and leaves me and Jack alone. The next, I promise, shall be a great, long letter. You’ll see! I do love you, Hildegarde.