Chapter Twenty Seven.
The brilliant sunlight of a September morning was shining full into the little breakfast-room, where Graeme sat at the head of the table, awaiting the coming of the rest. The morning paper was near her, but she was not reading; her hands were clasped and rested on the table, and she was looking straight before her, seeing, probably, further than the pale green wall, on which the sunshine fell so pleasantly. She was grave and quiet, but not in the least sad. Indeed, more than once, as the voices of Rose and Arthur came sounding down-stairs, a smile of unmistakable cheerfulness overspread her face. Presently, Arthur entered, and Graeme made a movement among her cups and saucers.
“Your trip has done you good, Graeme,” said Arthur, as he sat down opposite to her.
“Yes, indeed. There is nothing like the sea-breezes, to freshen one. I hardly know myself for the tired, exhausted creature you sent away in June.”
Graeme, Rose, and Will, had passed the summer at Cacouna. Nelly had gone with them as housekeeper, and Arthur had shut the house, and taken lodgings a little out of town for the summer.
“I am only afraid,” added Graeme, “that all our pleasure has been at the expense of some discomfort to you.”
“By no means, a change is agreeable. I have enjoyed the summer very much. I am glad to get home again, however.”
“Yes, a change does one good. If I was only quite at ease about one thing, we might have gone to Merleville, instead of Cacouna, and that would have given Janet and a good many others pleasure.”
“Oh! I don’t know,” said Arthur. “The good people there must have forgotten us by this time, I fancy. There are no sea-breezes there, and they were what you needed.”