“Yes, yes, dear,” he said, passing his arm round her; “and some day you shall have your conservatory again.”
“Never, Stephen—never, while you are so obstinate.”
“Come, come, dear,” he said, kissing her again; “let me put your pillow a little more easy, and we won’t talk of the past; it cannot interest Antony Grace. Where has Linny hidden herself?”
“I suppose she is seeing after the cooking,” said Mrs Hallett querulously. “We have no servants now, Mr Grace.”
“No, Antony,” said Mr Hallett, laughing; and I could not help contrasting the man I saw before me—so bright, airy, and tender in his ways—with the stern, rather grim-looking workman of the office. “No servants; I clean my own boots and help with the cooking, too. It is inconvenient, for my dear mother here is a great invalid.”
“Helpless for seventeen years, Mr Grace,” said the poor woman, looking at me piteously. “We used to have a carriage, but we have none now. Stephen is very kind to me, only he will be so thoughtless; and he is so wanting in ambition, clever as he is.”
“There, dear, we won’t talk about that now,” said Mr Hallett. “Come Antony; my sister will not show herself, so we’ll find her blooming in flour, or carving potato rings, or handling a truncheon bigger than that of your friend Mr Revitts as she makes the paste. Oh, here she is!”
A door opened as he spoke, and I quite started as a bright, pretty girl entered, and came forward smiling pleasantly to shake hands. She seemed to bring sunshine into the room, and, damped as I was by Mrs Hallett’s reception and the prospect of a dull, cheerless day, the coming of Miss Hallett seemed quite to change the state of affairs.
“I am very glad to see you,” she said, showing her little white teeth. “Stephen has so often talked about you, and said he would bring you home.”
“Ah, me, yes, home!” sighed Mrs Hallett, glancing round the shabby apartment.