"And all the time," she went on, "I utterly unconscious, and only fretting because I could not have my own life, my own will, my own way!"
"By Jove!" said Geoffrey, starting. "That—that's what I say myself!"
"Really!" said Vesta, dryly. "You see I also am human, after all"
"Do you see little Vesta anywhere, sister?" asked Miss Phoebe Blyth.
Miss Vesta had just lighted her lamp, and was standing with folded hands, in her usual peaceful attitude of content, gazing out upon the sunset sea. A black line lay out there on the rosy gold of the water; she had been watching it, watching the rhythmic flash of the paddle, and thinking happy, gentle thoughts, such as old ladies of tender heart often think. Miss Phoebe had no part in these thoughts, and Miss Vesta looked hurriedly round at the sound of her crisp utterance. Her breath fluttered a little, but she did not speak. Miss Phoebe came up behind her and peered out of the window. "I don't see where the child can be," she said, rather querulously. "I thought she was in the garden, but I don't—do you see her anywhere, Vesta?"
Miss Vesta had never read the "Pickwick Papers;" she considered Dickens vulgar; but her conduct at this moment resembled that of Samuel Weller on a certain noted occasion. Raising her eyes to the twilight sky, Miss Vesta said, gently, "No, Sister Phoebe, I do not!"
CHAPTER IX.
SIDE LIGHTS
ELMERTON, June 20, 1900.
DEAR JIM:—It is rather curious that you should have written me this particular letter at this particular time. 'Give me a man's coincidences and I'll give you his life!' Who is it says that?