“It is just three years to-night since we came to M. Did you remember it, Arthur?” said Graeme, looking up from her work.
“Is it possible that it can be three years?” said Arthur, in surprise.
“It has been a very happy time,” said Graeme.
Rose left her book, and came and seated herself on the arm of her brother’s chair. Arthur took the cigar from his lips, and gently puffed the smoke into his sister’s face. Rose did not heed it.
“Three years!” repeated she. “I was quite a child then.”
The others laughed, but Rose went on without heeding.
“It rained that night, and then we had a great many hot, dusty days. How well I remember the time! Graeme was ill and homesick, and we wished so much for Janet.”
“That was only at first, till you proved yourself such a wonderful nurse and housekeeper,” said Graeme; “and you were not at all homesick yourself, I suppose?”
“Perhaps just a little at first, in those hot, dreary days,” said Rose, gravely; “but I was not homesick very long.”
“I am afraid there were a good many dreary days about that time—more than you let me know about,” said Arthur.