“Oh! call me Margaret!”
“But, my dear, I am afraid there is something the matter, after all. Something has happened.”
“Oh, dear, no, ma’am!” said Phoebe. “Only we don’t like to see you in this way.”
“There is nothing the matter, I assure you,” said Margaret. “We were too much for you; we tired you; and we are very sorry—that is all. But the room will be kept quite quiet now, and you will soon feel better.”
“I am better, my dear, thank you. How are you sitting so low? Bless me! you are kneeling. Pray, my dear, rise. To think of your kneeling to take care of me!”
“Give me one kiss, and I will rise,” said Margaret, bending over her. It was a hearty kiss which Mrs Enderby gave her, for the old lady put all her energy into it. Margaret rose satisfied; she felt as if she had been accepted for a daughter.
As soon as Mrs Enderby appeared disposed to shut her eyes and lie quiet, Philip and Margaret withdrew, leaving her to Phoebe’s care. Arm-in-arm they sauntered about the walks, till they came upon Hester and Mr Rowland, who were sitting in the sun, under the shelter of an evergreen hedge.
“Have you heard nothing of my husband yet?” asked Hester. “I do wish he would come, and read this letter from Frank.”
“Her anxiety is purely disinterested,” said Margaret to Philip. “There can be nothing about her in that letter. His greetings to her will come in the next.”
“Edward enjoys Frank’s letters above everything,” observed Hester.