Mrs. Fitzpatrick was generally to be found seated near the sofa, working at a large frame of embroidery, an employment at once picturesque and dignified for persons of middle age, but which in young people seems to be the resource of an indolent mind. Aveline had as yet but few of the habits of an invalid. She was very careful of her costume, which was generally a richly worked muslin made in a foreign fashion; with a large Cachemere lying somewhere about the room, which wrapped her from head to foot when she became chilly. And though it was out of her power to occupy herself for more than a few minutes at a time, yet it was surprising how little of languor pervaded her manner and conversation. She had always a book by her side to glance into when she was at ease, and when her restless fits came over her, she would wander about the room arranging the flowers, or tuning her harp, or turning over the beautiful articles of virtú, with which the room was decorated. And when wrapped in her bright coloured Cachemere she reclined in an easy chair with her silver bonbonniére in her fingers which she handled as an old courtier might have done a snuff-box, a stranger could not easily have been made to believe that but a few weeks of life remained to her.
It was singular that Mr. Haveloc never suspected her affection for him. She who seemed to receive new life from his presence; who was entirely and exclusively occupied with him—who hardly removed her eyes from him when he came, and who spent her time in expecting him when he was away. He treated it all as a sick person's fancy, and submitted far more implicitly to her demands, than if he had been seeking to ingratiate himself in her heart.
Serious illness generally weakens the mind; and in the case of Aveline, it some-what dimmed her perceptions. She did not attach the exact meaning to Mr. Haveloc's constant visits, that she could not fail to have done in health. She had mourned his absence, she was contented in his society, and it seemed as if she felt no desire to penetrate the future, or to anticipate a time when they must part.
"He is late, mamma," said Aveline one day. "He is certainly later this morning; something has happened. That yacht—you know it was very windy last night."
"My dear child, I can see the yacht from the window; and I do not think he has been on board of her since we went with him. Besides, we must not be so unreasonable as to look for him always at one hour."
Aveline took up her book again. Presently Mr. Haveloc made his appearance at the drawing-room window with a large flower in his hand; a splendid cup-shaped blossom, with white leaves tinged with pink, that shed a delightful perfume all over the room.
"Look, Miss Fitzpatrick," he said coming up to Aveline, "I have waited for some purpose; my water-lilly has flowered this morning. Did you ever see anything so beautiful?"
"And you have brought it me," said Aveline taking the flower, "how good you are. I will put it in water directly. It shall have the Dresden jar all to itself; that with the holly berries."
Mr. Haveloc brought the jar and rang for water.
"And is this a water-lilly?" said she, still admiring the flower. "Of that species; it came from South America, and is I believe, the only one in England. I had hoped it was a lotus just to put one in mind of Moore's poetry. And how are you to-day?"