"You told him what?"
"I won't say. It can never come to anything."
"I know what you said—you have made Philip very happy, Frances. Now I must run away."
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FIRS OR FRANCES?
It is necessary for some people to go away to be missed. There are certain very quiet people in the world, who make no fuss, who think humbly of themselves, who never on any occasion blow their own trumpets, who under all possible circumstances keep in the background, but who yet have a knack of filling odd corners, of smoothing down sharp angles, of shedding the sunshine of kindness and unselfishness over things generally. There are such people, and they are seldom very much missed until they go away.
Then there is a hue and cry. Who did this? Whose duty was the other? Where is such a thing to be found? Will nobody attend to this small but necessary want? The person who never made any talk, but did all the small things, and made all the other people comfortable, is suddenly missed, and in an instant his or her virtues are discovered.
This was the case at the Firs when Frances on a certain morning drove away.
Watkins missed her—the stable-boy, the house-servant—the cat, the dog—many other domestic pets—and most of all, Squire Kane.