Harry had some last words to exchange with Arthur, and then Mr Millar approached Graeme and said, with a smile that was rather forced and uncertain,—
“I ought to apologise for coming back to the subject again. I don’t think you believe me likely to speak of your sister in a way that would displease you. Won’t you just say so to me?”
“Charlie! I know you could not. You are one of ourselves.”
Charlie’s face brightened. Of late it had been “Mr Millar,” mostly—not that Graeme liked him less than she used to do; but she saw him less frequently, and he was no longer a boy, even to her. But this time it was, “Charlie,” and he was very much pleased.
“You have been quite a stronger, lately,” she went on; “but now that Mrs Elliott is better and Rose coming home, we shall be livelier and better worth visiting. We cannot bring the old times quite back, even with Harry and Rose, but we shall always be glad to see you.”
She spoke cordially, as she felt, and he tried to answer in the same way; but he was grave, and did not use many words.
“I hope there is nothing wrong,” said Graeme, observing his changing look.
“Nothing for which there is any help,” said he. “No there is nothing wrong.”
“I am ready, Charlie,” said Harry, coming forward. “And Graeme, you are not to trouble yourself about Rose’s conquests. When she goes to her own house—‘palatial’ or otherwise—and the sooner the better for all concerned—you are coming to take care of Charlie and me.”
“There may be two or three words to be said on that subject,” said Arthur, laughing.