'Indeed, I believe you implicitly, my dear Beatrice,' said Mrs. Birks. 'My brother is the one to decide. You are mistaken in thinking I oppose your wish. How could I?'
The last words were very sweetly said. With a smile which did not pass beyond her lips, Beatrice rose from her seat and held her hand to Mr. Athel.
'Then it is understood? When Wilfrid brings his wife to you, you receive her with all kindness. I have your promise?'
Mr. Athel drew himself up very straight, pressed the offered hand and said:
'It shall be as you wish.' ...
Beatrice returned with Mrs. Baxendale. Her desire to be alone was respected during the rest of the day. Going to her the last thing at night, her aunt was reassured; weariness had followed upon nervous strain, and the beautiful eyes seemed longing for sleep.
But in the morning appearances were not so hopeful. The night had after all been a troubled one: Beatrice declined breakfast and, having dressed with effort, lay on a sofa, her eyes closed.
At noon Mrs. Baxendale came near and said gently:
'Dear, you are not going to be ill?'
The sufferer stirred a little, looked in her aunt's face, rose to a sitting position.