“Don’t! Miss Carlyon says the more I ‘nurse a grievance’ the worse things will seem. I’m certain she’s right; for I begin to feel my ‘angry passions rise’ the moment I give them a chance.”
“Come, then—to business! Here are two suggestive-looking boxes already unfastened for us. What lurks within, fellow-conspirator?”
“Nothing very mysterious. Only a few special treasures of Mamma’s, and some of her books, and other odds and ends. There’s the empty book-case in that corner. Good Austin! He has remembered to put up the brackets and small shelves for the china.”
“Isn’t that a pretty little overmantel? I don’t recollect seeing it at Elveley. What dainty carving!”
“It never was at Elveley,” said Frances, in a puzzled voice; “and it is pretty. Those two long shelves will be lovely for photographs and the little figures papa brought from India. Oh! the overmantel is a blessing. Let’s make haste to fill it.”
“No—I’ll do the books, and leave you the treasures. Ah, what a jolly Browning! Isn’t this binding perfect? Hallo! it’s Rivière’s! Frances, you’re a lucky girl. It ought to make you amiable to live with this.”
“Goose! I like a binding I can handle. I wouldn’t give my own Browning for that; though I own that Rivière, like our unknown genius of the curtains, has ‘ideas’.”
“Here’s an edition of Jane Austen in crimson morocco. Frances, I wouldn’t have Jane Austen in crimson. She ought to be bound in French gray, or ‘puce’, or anything old-fashioned and sweet. Never mind; here she goes, dear old thing! When we’ve finished with this room, Francy, do let’s unpack your treasures. I helped you to pack them, so I shall know just where everything is.”
Frances shook her head. “I told Austin to send my boxes to the little place upstairs. There’s no room for their contents anywhere.”
Florry looked unmistakably crestfallen.