Evie sighed. “It’s nice to be praised, but I feel as if I don’t deserve it. I am not in the least brave at heart... Sometimes I almost dread getting strong, for then I shall have to face so much... I’m conceited, too, for I hate the idea of limping, and being stiff and ungraceful. I thought I did not care for appearance, but I did—oh, a great deal! It is a humiliating discovery, and I am trying hard to cure myself, but pride dies slowly! There was a girl at school who was lame. I used to be so sorry for her, and yet, compared with other misfortunes, it is a very little thing. I can still move about and use my faculties. It is not so bad, after all!”
“Yes,” said Harold, unexpectedly. “It is very bad. It is a mistake to pretend to yourself that it is only a small trial, for it’s not true, and the pretence is sure to break down some day, and leave you where you were. It is a great affliction for people to be crippled, even when they are old and have lost their energy; but for a girl like you it is ten times worse. Don’t be too hard on yourself, and expect resignation to come all at once. I believe the best plan is to face it fully, and to say to yourself, ‘It’s a big test—one of the biggest I could have to bear. I shall feel the pinch not to-day only, but to-morrow, and the next year, and as long as I live. It is going to take a big effort to save myself from growing bitter and discouraged, but it’s worth fighting, for my whole life hangs on the result. If I can succeed—if I can rise above infirmity, and keep a bright, uncomplaining spirit’—”
He broke off suddenly, and Evie breathed a quick “Yes, yes, I know! I feel that too. Thank you so much. It is good to talk to someone who understands. It helps me on.”
“Don’t thank me. It is like my presumption to venture to preach to you. But you have helped me so much that when I saw you in trouble I could not be silent. I was obliged to do what I could.”
“I—I have helped you?” repeated Evie, blankly; and a flush of colour rose in her pale cheeks, which made her look for one moment the happy, blooming girl of old. “In what way have I ever helped you, or been anything but an anxiety and care?”
But Harold did not answer, and that was the last chance of a tête-à-tête conversation that evening, for presently she was carried off to her own room, and helped into bed, where she lay awake for a long, long time, staring before her in the twilight, and recalling the lessons of consolation to which she had just listened. It must surely have been wonderfully wise, wonderfully true, since it did not so much comfort, as do away with the very necessity for comfort! She could not delude herself that she felt sad or despondent, or anything but mysteriously happy and at rest, as she lay smiling softly to herself in the flickering firelight.
Two days later came a delightful surprise. Evie and her late pupil were sitting in the morning-room writing letters of thanks to the many donors of Christmas presents, when the door opened and shut, and someone walked into the room. It was such an ordinary, matter-of-fact entrance that neither of the writers troubled to look up, taking it for granted that the new-comer was Mrs Chester, who had left the room but a few minutes before. Two minutes later, however, Evie finished her sheet and lifted her eyes to make a casual remark, when she promptly fell back in her chair with a shriek, and a hand pressed over her heart. Rhoda jumped up in alarm, and then—was it a dream, or did a well-known figure really lean up against the mantelpiece, in familiar, gentlemanly attitude, a roguish smile curling the lips, and little eyes alight with mischief?
“Tom, Tom! Oh, Tom, you angel! Where in the world have you come from?” cried Rhoda, rushing forward with outstretched arms, in a very whirlwind of welcome. “How perfectly delicious to see you again, and what a terrific start you gave me!”
“Oh, what a surprise!” chanted Tom easily, rubbing her cheeks as if to wipe away the kisses pressed upon it, and advancing to greet Evie with a nonchalance which for once was a trifle overdone, though neither of her friends was in the least danger of mistaking her real feelings. “The same to you, and many of them,” she continued, sitting down without waiting for an invitation, and smiling round in genial fashion. “It really was as good as a play, standing there, and watching you two scribbling away with faces as solemn as judges—and what a squeal Evie gave! It made me jump in my skin! Yes; I’m visiting my female relative, and determined to pay you a visit even if it were only for an hour. It can’t be much longer, for we have a tea fight on this afternoon, when every spinster in the neighbourhood is coming to stare at me and deliver her views on higher education. Such a lark! Some of them strongly approve, and others object, and I agree with each in turn, until the poor dears are so bamboozled they don’t know what to do. They think I am an amiably-disposed young person, but defective in brains, and poor aunt Jim gets quite low in her mind, for she wants me to impress them, and branch off into Latin and Greek as if they came more naturally to me than English. I wish they did! It takes the conceit out of one to go up to college and compete with women instead of girls.”
“Don’t you like it, Tom? Are you happy? Didn’t you miss the Manor, and feel home-sick for the girls and the old school parlour?” queried Rhoda eagerly, and Tom screwed up her face in meaning fashion.