"Come to me, you dear little soul," she said; "come and have a hearty hug." She clasped me tightly, and kissed me over and over again.
"I am only back an hour," she said. "And how is Albert?"
"I have not seen Mr. Fanning this morning," I answered, and I tried to disengage myself from those cheery arms.
"Dear, dear, you don't look at all the thing," she said; "there's the brougham outside, would not you like a drive, honey? You and I might go out by ourselves. Come, dearie."
"No, thank you," I answered, "I am going on some special business for mother."
"Then whatever it is, can't you make use of the brougham? It was all built and painted to suit your style, love, and why should not you make use of it? Albert would be that proud."
"Oh, indeed he would not, Mrs. Fanning; but please do not speak of it, I cannot, I really cannot."
"Well, if you won't, you won't," said the good woman. "I have come back, though, and I hope to see a good deal of you; I have got lots to tell you. I have been collecting early reminiscences."
"Of what?" I could not help asking.
"Of Albert's babyhood and childhood, they are that touching. I found a little diary he used to keep. I declare I laughed and I cried over it. We'll read it together this evening. Now then, off you go, and do get some colour back into your pale cheeks; you are quite the prettiest, most graceful, most h'aristocratic young lady I ever saw; but you are too pale now, you really are."