A little soft echoing laugh came from Lady Louvaine.
“Shall I tell thee, my dear heart, what I think Aunt Joyce should say to thee? ‘Well done, Lettice Eden’s daughter!’”
“Ah, Mother dear!” said Milisent, kissing her mother’s hand, “I may be like what you were as a young maid, but never shall I make by one-half so blessed a saint in mine old age.”
“That must you ask your grandchildren,” said Temperance.
“Nay, I will ask somebody that can judge better,” replied Milisent, laughing. “What sayest thou, Robin?”
Mr Lewthwaite had entered so quietly that only his wife’s quick eyes had detected his presence. He came forward now, kissed Lady Louvaine’s hand, and then laying his hand on Milisent’s bright head, he said softly—
“‘The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her; she will do him good and not evil all the days of her life. She openeth her mouth with wisdom, and in her tongue is the law of kindness. Her children arise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praiseth her.’”
Whether he would have gone further was never to be known, for a sudden rap at the door preceded Charity.
“Madam, here’s Mistress Abbott, and hoo will come in. I cannot keep her out. I’ve done my best.”
And they were all feeling so happy, and yet, for various reasons, so humble,—the two are very apt to go together,—that, as Edith observed afterwards, there was charity enough and to spare even for Silence Abbott.