“It is so inciting all about it,” continued the little girl, “and I can see the marquee quite splendidly from here, and mother flitting about. Isn’t mother pretty, isn’t she quite sweet? She is going to have the most lovely dress for the bazaar, a sort of silvery white; she will look like an angel—but then she is an angel, isn’t she, Lady Helen?”
Lady Helen bent and kissed Sibyl on her soft forehead. “You must not talk too much and tire yourself,” she said; “let me talk to you. I have plenty of nice things to say.”
“Stories?” said Sibyl.
“Yes, I will tell you stories.”
“Thank you; I do love ’em. Did you ever tell them to Mr. Rochester?”
“I have not seen him lately.”
“You’ll be married to him soon, I know you will.”
“We need not talk about that now, need we? I want to do something to amuse you.”
“It’s odd how weak my voice has grown,” said Sibyl, with a laugh. “Mother says I am getting better, and perhaps I am, only somehow I do feel weak. Do you know, mother wanted me to dress dolls for her, but I couldn’t. Nursie did ’em. There’s one big beautiful doll with wings; Nurse made the wings, but she can’t put them on right; will you put them on proper, Lady Helen?”