‘Yours was not quite what it ought to have been, Adela. I felt it at the time, but then things were done in such a hurry. Of course the church must be decorated. The breakfast you will no doubt arrange to have at the Manor. Letty ought to have a nice, a really nice trousseau; I know you will be kind to her, my dear.’
As Alice had done, Mrs. Waltham noticed before long that Adela was far brighter than usual. She remarked upon it.
‘You begin to look really well, my love. It makes me happy to see you. How much we have to be thankful for! I’ve had a letter this morning from poor Lizzie Henbane; I must show it you. They’re in such misery as never was. Her husband’s business is all gone to nothing, and he is cruelly unkind to her. How thankful we ought to be!’
‘Surely not for poor Lizzie’s unhappiness!’ said Adela, with a return of her maiden archness.
‘On our own account, my dear. We have had so much to contend against. At one time, just after your poor father’s death, things looked very cheerless: I used to fret dreadfully on your account. But everything, you see, was for the best.’
Adela had something to say and could not find the fitting moment. She first drew her chair a little nearer to her mother.
‘Yes, mother, I am happy,’ she murmured.
‘Silly child! As if I didn’t know best. It’s always the same, but you had the good sense to trust to my experience.’
Adela slipped from her seat and put her arms about her mother.
‘What is it, dear?’