Mrs. Lesly, easily frightened, hurried to her assistance, and, though Amy kept exclaiming that she was only anxious about her dress, hurried her off to a receptacle of old linen, which she kept in preparation for every accident.
Mrs. Villars glanced at the paper she had just written.
"How careless Annie is," thought she. "Yet she seemed suspicious just now about the spills—could she have guessed I tore up the other papers I wrote? No—impossible! It is so awkward to be pressed for money, at all sorts of times, and poor Annie is not long for this world, I see. That Mabel has a sharp eye, and would not be easily deceived. Well, it does not alter the obligation one bit, and what does it signify between sisters. I only do not wish to be hurried."
A clue to these thoughts might be given by her putting out her hand, and drawing the paper to her, amongst the pieces she was tearing up. Where was the voice of conscience then? Alas! for a time, it slept, for she had slighted its first warning.
She tore the paper in two, and then said to herself, "Well, it is done now," rather as if somebody else had done it, and it was no act of her own. Then she slowly twisted bit after bit into spills, laying each with those she had already done, and the last piece had just assumed its taper appearance, when Mrs. Lesly entered the room.
"What did I do with that paper?" said she, after looking on all sides for it, "how careless I am."
"I think," said Mrs. Villars, "you put it in your secretary—you had it open while you were writing."
"Ah, so I must, I suppose," said Mrs. Lesly; but she looked suspiciously at the secretary, she had no remembrance of going there; yet, she had had it open that morning, she knew. Her sister must remember better than she did. She would look presently, she had not quite the resolution to look now; and suffering her characteristic indolence to overcome her prudence, she sank into an arm-chair, and took up her knitting.
At this moment, the chaise, which had been ordered, slowly drove up to the door, and Mabel entered to tell them that luncheon waited them in the sitting-room.
Mrs. Villars started up, full of business and bustle, which she felt to be a welcome relief after the morning's tête-à-tête, and hurried down stairs. Mabel regarded her mother's pale looks with affectionate anxiety; but there was little time for thought, as Mrs. Villars and her maid kept the house in a perfect ferment for the next five minutes.