“Here you both is!” she said, and she looked full up at Lady Helen, with such a charming glance of mingled affection and understanding, that Lady Helen blushed, in spite of herself.
Lady Helen Douglas was a very nice-looking girl, not exactly pretty, but her gray eyes were capable of many shades of emotion. They were large, and full of intelligence. Her complexion was almost colorless. She had a slim, graceful figure. Her jet-black hair, which she wore softly coiled round her head, was also thick and beautiful. Sibyl used to like to touch that hair, and loved very much to nestle up close to the graceful figure, and take shy peeps into the depths of the eyes which seemed to hold secrets.
“You do look nice,” said Sibyl, speaking in a semi-whisper, but in a tone of great ecstasy, “and so does Mr. Rochester. Do you know, I always call him nice Mr. Rochester. Watson is so interested in him.”
“Who is Watson?” asked Lady Helen.
“Don’t you know, he is our footman. He is very nice, too; he is full of impulses, and they are all good. I expect the reason he is so awfully interested in dear Mr. Rochester is because they are both having love affairs. You know, Watson has a girl, too, he is awfully fond of; I ’spect they’ll marry when father comes back with all the gold. You don’t know how fond I am of Watson; he’s a very great, special friend of mine. Now here’s the carriage. Let’s all get in. Aren’t you both glad you’re coming, and coming together, both of you together, to visit Silverbel. It’s a ’licious place; there are all kinds of little private walks and shrubberies, and seats for two under trees. Two that want to be alone can be alone at Silverbel. Now let’s all get into the carriage.”
Poor Rochester and Lady Helen at that moment thought Sibyl almost an enfant terrible. However, there was no help for it. She would have her say, and her words were bright and her interest of the keenest. It mattered nothing at all to her that passers-by turned to look and smiled in an amused way.
Mrs. Ogilvie was in an excellent humor. All the way down she talked to Lady Helen of the bazaar which she had already arranged was to take place at Silverbel during the last week in August.
“I had meant to put it off until my husband returned,” she remarked finally, “but on reflection that seemed a pity, for he is scarcely likely to be back before the end of October, and by then it would be too late; and, besides, the poor dear Home for Incurables needs its funds, and why should it languish when we are all anxious, more than anxious, to be charitable? Mr. Acland, my lawyer, is going to pay a deposit on the price of the estate, so I can enter into possession almost immediately. I am going to get Morris & Liberty to furnish the place, and I shall send down servants next week. But about the bazaar. I mean it to be perfect in every way. The stalls are to be held by unmarried titled ladies. Your services, Lady Helen, must be secured immediately.”
“Oh, yes,” cried Sibyl, “you are to have a most beautiful stall, a flower stall: what do you say?”