"The effort was too much for you, my Judy; but never mind, the pain and the parting are all over now. Isn't it kind of your new brother—isn't it kind of dear, dear Jasper—to get the nice little room furnished and ready for you, darling?"
"Yes, Hilda. Has he gone in debt for the furniture? You told me long ago that the room would have been furnished and that I should have come to you, but there was no money left, and Jasper would not go in debt. Has he really gone in debt now, just to please me?"
"No, my love, no—we have managed. You must not ask inquisitive questions. All is right now, and we shall be very happy together."
Dr. Harvey was highly pleased, when he heard that his little patient was going to London with her sister. He was a man with plenty of observation, and he could read between the lines much better than poor obtuse old Aunt Marjorie.
"You are the right physician for your little sister, Mrs. Quentyns," he said. "I prophesy that Miss Judy will become perfectly strong and well in a short time under your care. Yes, there will be nothing to prevent her traveling to town on Saturday next, if you really wish it. The weather is extraordinarily mild for the time of year, and a change will do Judy more good than anything else."
Hilda wrote a joyful letter to her husband that day.
"You are to expect us both on Saturday," she said. "Oh, Jasper, how happy your letter has made me. How good—how really good you are. Please forgive me if I was a little hasty with you the other evening. I know you will never regret, darling husband, helping me to keep both my vows—the vow I made to you, and the vow I made mother. No one ever had a more loving wife than I shall prove to you, and no one ever had a dearer little sister than you will find my Judy when you really know her."
"Her Judy, indeed!" murmured Quentyns, when he read his wife's letter at his breakfast-table on the following morning. "Tiresome little piece—she'll never be my Judy, however much she may be Hilda's. Well, I suppose I must make the best of a bad job, but if I had known beforehand that that wretched sentimental child was to be tacked on to us, I'd have thought twice.... No, I wouldn't though, I love Hilda well enough to bear some inconvenience for her sake; but if she thinks this step will really add to our happiness, she'll soon find her mistake. Fancy her asking me to sell her engagement ring! I can never get over that. Things can't be quite the same again—it's impossible. Well, well, more than one friend has told me I'd wake from my dream of bliss some day. I have, with a vengeance—it has been something of a shock too. Heigho! I am not going to look like defeat, anyhow. Of course, too, I'll be just the same to Hilda outwardly. Ah, there's Susan—I'd better speak to her and get her to tell cook. This is Thursday—they'll be here in two days."
"Susan," as the neat parlor-maid entered the room, "I have had a letter from your mistress. She is coming home on Saturday, and will bring little Miss Merton with her. Have the things come from Shoolbred's yet?"
"The furniture, sir, for the spare room? Yes, it arrived yesterday, and the man is coming to lay down the carpet and put up the curtains this morning."