“But you have had no serious illness since I was here?”
“No, no, nothing specific; only languor and shattered nerves, want of appetite, want of sleep: the sure indications of decay. My doctor can find no name for my malady. He tries one remedy after another, until I weary of his experiments. I am glad you have come to me, Mildred; but I should be gladder if you were going back to your husband.”
“O, aunt, why do you say things which you know must torture me?”
“Because I am worried by your folly. Well, I will say no more. You will stay with me and comfort me, if you can. What have you done with Pamela?”
Mildred told her aunt about Lady Lochinvar’s invitation.
“Ah! she is with Lady Lochinvar. A very frivolous person, I suppose. Your husband’s niece is a well-meaning silly girl; sure to get into mischief of some kind. Is she still in love with César Castellani?”
“I think not—I hope not. I believe she is cured of that folly.”
“You call it a folly? Well, perhaps you are right. It may be foolishness for a girl to follow the blind instinct of her heart.”
“For an impulsive girl like Pamela.”
“Yes, no doubt she is impulsive, generous, and uncalculating; a girl hardly to be trusted with her own fate,” said Miss Fausset, with a sigh, and then she lapsed into silence.