"He's human enough to be annoyed with me because I chose to earn my own living," said Frances bitterly. "However, let us see Ida, and then I'll tell you all about my brother. In fact, I want to ask your advice."
"Why should you think I was capable of giving advice, Miss Hest?"
"Oh, you are so grave," she replied with a smile and halting at the door of the boudoir, "and Mr. Dimsdale, poor man, always said that you were so clever in making suggestions. Besides, you don't know the opinion Ida has of you. Ida, dear," she passed into the room, "here is Mr. Vernon."
"Arthur," said the girl, who was lying on a couch near the window, "oh, I am so glad to see you. I'm glad Frances did not send you away. She's such a tyrant as my nurse."
"Perhaps you need a tyrant to manage you, Ida. You were always too impulsive and reckless of your health."
"I think I have changed since poor papa's death. I don't feel reckless in any way now. I shall never get over it; never."
Frances, who had taken some knitting to sit in a near chair, frowned as the girl spoke. "That's the way she goes on, Mr. Vernon. Isn't it foolish? I want her to go out and enjoy herself."
"As if I could when poor papa is dead only two months," cried Ida sighing.
"Oh, I don't mean you to lead a gay life. But you shouldn't stay here day after day without sunshine."
"I think Miss Hest is right, Ida," said Vernon, gravely scrutinising the pale face of the girl; "you are not looking well."