“I pity people who have headaches,” said Aneta. “I suffer from them very badly myself. Nothing cures me but perfect rest. I was lying down all the afternoon. Merry came to see me, and told me that you were also prostrated with headache. I was sorry for you.”
“Oh, thank you so much!” said Maggie. “Mine is quite gone; is yours?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Aneta sat quiet and very still. When her face was in repose she never moved her body. There was an absolute sense of rest about her which was refreshing to those who really knew her well. But Maggie hated it. She wanted to leave her; she wanted to go and talk to Merry, who was playing a solitary game of patience in a distant part of the drawing-room; she wanted to do anything rather than remain by Aneta’s side.
Then Aneta looked up. “I had a letter this afternoon from my aunt, Lady Lysle.”
“Oh!” said Maggie. She could not quite understand why her heart beat so fast, but she had undoubtedly a premonition of some sort of trouble ahead.
“Aunt Lucia is staying with the Cardews,” continued Aneta.
“Is she?” said Maggie. “Oh, that sweet and beautiful place!” she continued.
“Yes,” said Aneta, “Meredith Manor will always be lovely. There is no season of the year when it is not, in my opinion, more charming than any other place I know.”
“Is your aunt going to stay there long?” asked Maggie, who felt that she need not say anything further with regard to the delights of Meredith Manor just now. 133