This request Mrs. Sheldon made known to Marian, who asked, eagerly, if “to-morrow would not do as well?”
“It might,” returned Mrs. Sheldon, “were it not that he leaves on the early train.”
Marian sighed deeply, and turning upon her pillow tried to sleep, hoping thus to lose the throbbing pain in her head—but it would not be lost; and when, as it was growing dark, she heard the sound of feet upon the gravelled walk, and knew whose feet they were, it ached as it had not done before during the entire day. She heard them as they entered the lower hall, and fancied she saw Frederic place his hat and shawl upon the stand, and pass his fingers through his hair ere he entered the parlor, which was directly beneath her room. She knew when he was there, for she heard his well-remembered voice speaking to the children, and covering her face with her hands she wept aloud to think she should not see him.
Meantime, in the parlor below, little Fred had climbed into his uncle’s lap and commenced a rather embarrassing conversation. Somehow Will reminded him of Marian, for the two were associated together in his mind; and he said, rather as a piece of news: “Miss Day is sick—up stairs she is; and when I told her you was comin’ she vomucked and cried so hard!”
Frederic could not help laughing, and, emboldened by this proof of appreciation, the child continued: “What made her cry, Uncle Will? I asked her didn’t she want you to come, and she say yes. Don’t she like you?”
“I guess not,” said Will, trying himself to laugh, while Frederic, pitying his embarrassment, strove to divert the little fellow’s mind by asking about the sled he saw upon the steps as he came in.
This had the desired effect, for a sled was of more consequence to Fred than Miss Grey’s tears, and he prattled on about it until his nurse came to take him from the room. After he was gone Mr. Raymond spoke of Miss Grey, asking if he should not have the pleasure of seeing her.
“She is suffering from a nervous headache,” returned Mrs. Sheldon, “and cannot come down, for which I am very sorry, as I wish you to hear her play.”
“I do not care so much for that,” returned Frederic, “as for seeing her, so as to carry back a good account to Alice. Do tell me, Mrs. Sheldon, is she really as beautiful, and fascinating, and accomplished as report would make her out to be?”
“I should say she would fully warrant any praise you may have heard of her,” returned Mrs. Sheldon, “although her beauty is not of the brilliant style. She is very modest and gentle in her appearance, and there is in her eyes and in her smile something so very sad and plaintive, that I often feel like crying when I look at her, for I know she must have suffered some great trouble, young as she is.”