She raised her eyes to the questioner by her side, William Arkell. She had not observed that he was there.
"I?—Yes; I say Lucy's will be a happy destiny."
"Very happy," he assented, glancing at a group at the end, who were engaged in a hot and laughing dispute, as to the placing of the guests, Travice maintaining his own opinion against Aunt Betsey and Lucy. Travice looked very well now. His hair was long again; his face, delicate still—but it was in the nature of its features to be so—had resumed its hue of health. Lucy was radiant in smiles and blue ribbons, under the light of the chandelier.
"I begin to think that destinies are more equally apportioned than we are willing to imagine; that where there are fewer flowers there are fewer thorns," Mr. Arkell observed in a low tone. "There is a better life, Mildred, awaiting us hereafter."
"Ah, yes. Where there shall be neither neglect, nor disappointment, nor pain; where——"
"Here you are!" broke out a loud, hearty, laughing voice upon their ears. "I knew it was where I should find you. Lucy, I have been to your house after you. Take my load off me, Travice."
Need you be told that the voice was Barbara Fauntleroy's? She came staggering in under the load: a something held out before her, nearly as tall as herself.
A beautiful epergne for the centre of the table, of solid silver. Travice was taking it from her, but awkwardly—he was one of the incapable ones, like poor Peter Arkell. Miss Fauntleroy rated him and pushed him away, and lifted it on the table herself, with her strong hands.
"It's our present to you two, mine and Lizzie's. You'll accept it, won't you, Lucy?"
Kindness invariably touched the chord of Lucy Arkell's feelings, perhaps because she had not been in the way of having a great deal of it shown to her in her past life. The tears were in her earnest eyes, as she gently took the hands of Miss Fauntleroy.