“Oh no, darling,” said Aneta. “I can’t eat or drink; but if I stay very still I shall be better by-and-by. Leave me now, dear; all I want is perfect quiet.”
“I am so sorry for you, Aneta,” said Merry.
“What are you doing downstairs?” said Aneta as the girl turned away.
“Well, Maggie has a headache too.”
“Oh!” said Aneta.
“So we are without our queens,” continued Merry; “but Maggie’s girls have taken possession of our sitting-room, and we are all in the schoolroom. We’re having great fun and are very happy, so don’t worry about us at all, Aneta.”
“I won’t,” said Aneta, closing her eyes, while a feeling of drowsy relief stole over her.
Her anxiety with regard to Maggie was really making her ill. Her sense of responsibility with reference to the Cardew girls seemed to oppress her usually calm spirit. She could not conceal the fact from herself that Merry loved Maggie, most passionately. The knowledge, therefore, that Maggie was not downstairs gave her such a sense of comfort that she dropped into a doze, and when she awoke a short time afterwards her headache was gone.
Yes, her headache had departed, but there lay by her pillow what is a great treasure to all schoolgirls—an unopened letter. She looked at the handwriting, and saw that it was from her aunt, Lady Lysle. Aneta was very fond of Lady Lysle; and, sitting up against her pillows, she tore open the letter and began to read. She was surprised to see that it was dated from Meredith Manor.
“My dear Aneta”—it ran—“I have been staying with the dear Cardews for the last week. We have been having a very pleasant time; although, of course, the house is vastly different without Cicely and Merry. But the dear Cardews are so sensible that they never would regret anything that was for the real benefit of their children.