Christobelle thought Sir John Spottiswoode spoke a little bitterly of poor Lord Farnborough, but it did not surprise her. Doubtless, Mr. Beverly's supposed injury had taken effect upon his friend's mind, and prejudiced him against his lordship. Christobelle did not, however, continue a subject in itself uninteresting. Lord Farnborough had no charm for her; she only felt amused by his sprightly powers. While her father and Sir John Spottiswoode were near, Christobelle's spirits ever rose into gaiety: she would be gaiety itself during the water excursion, and Sir John would be gay too, only he spoke so deprecatingly of the affair. They did not linger on the terrace. Christobelle had only time to promise her companion that the evening should be devoted to music, and she hurried to her room. The second bell sounded ere she could reach the drawing-room.
The following morning rose in sunny smiles. A mist had cleared away, leaving the sparkling waters of the lake bright and clear; and Christobelle's spirits were unusually high at the prospect of her happy day of pleasurable anticipation. She spoke in metaphor, and thought in rhyme; but her astonishment was great, in beholding the coolness of Sir John Spottiswoode's manner, and viewing the gravity of his countenance at breakfast. Christobelle's most lively sallies passed perfectly unnoticed and unheeded. She could not win one smile, or obtain one remark from her friend. His eye appeared heavy, and Christobelle fancied he must suffer from concealed illness, otherwise he would have caught the infection of her spirits. The thought of Sir John Spottiswoode suffering sobered her vivacity. She became grave, and gradually even sad, to witness his dejection. Christobelle approached him when they rose from the breakfast-table; her mother had quitted the breakfast-room, and she feared no misconstruction of her anxiety.
"I know you are ill. I am sure you are unfit to join a party full of mirth."
"I believe I am unequal to this morning's gaiety; certainly quite unfitted for mirth," was the dejected answer.
"How very annoying that it should take place to-day; or how provoking that you should ever be ill! Did you rise unwell?"
"No; I was perfectly well when I entered the breakfast-room; but a few turns on the terrace with Lady Wetheral, before you appeared, has caused a head and heart ache. I cannot remain at Fairlee solitary, but I am too ill to mix in a party of pleasure."
"I wish we were both going in our own boat, to our own island, to be quiet," Christobelle exclaimed. "I do not enjoy large parties when my friends are ill."
"You will not observe my sickness of heart, Miss Wetheral. You will be gaily engaged."
"Not if you are ill."