So, since she was evidently anxious to get up, Avery permitted it, though she marked her obvious languor with a sinking heart.
The Vicar arrived at about noon, and Avery saw at a glance that he was in no kindly mood.
"Dear me, what is all this fuss?" he said to Jeanie. "You look to me considerably rosier than I have seen you for a long time."
Jeanie was indeed flushed with nervous excitement, and Avery thought she had never seen her eyes so unnaturally bright. She endured her father's hand under her chin with evident discomfort, and the Vicar's face was somewhat severe when he finally released her.
"I am afraid you are getting a little fanciful, my child," he said gravely. "I know that our kind friend, Lady Evesham—" his eyes twinkled ironically and seemed to slip inwards—"has always been inclined to indulge your whims. Now how do you occupy your time?"
"I read," faltered Jeanie.
"And sew, I presume," said the Vicar, who prided himself upon bringing up his daughter to be useful.
"A little," said Jeanie.
He opened his eyes upon her again with that suggestion of severity in his regard which Jeanie so plainly dreaded. "But you have done none since you have been here? Jeanie, my child, I detect in you the seeds of idleness. If your time were more fully occupied, you would find your general health would considerably improve. Now, do you rise early and go for a bathe before breakfast?"
"No," said Jeanie, with a little shiver.