"Oh, Charlotte! how thin and worn he looks. He is like a shadow."
Mrs. Darling's incautious greeting broke from her in the first startled moment. He was like a shadow; like nothing else. His face was wan and thin, his cheeks and his blue eyes were unnaturally bright, his little hands were transparent, and his fair and pretty curls looked damp and dead.
"It is because he is tired," said Charlotte. "He will be all right tomorrow."
Was she really deceived as to the truth, or did she but wilfully deceive herself? Mrs. Darling thought it was the former; she had not yet admitted to herself the possibility--not yet seen it--of the boy's death. She was changed, if you will; changed even more than George; her beautiful cheeks were haggard and crimson, her eyes had a wasting fire in them. She was quite well, she said; and so far as bodily health went, there might be no reason to doubt the assertion. Her disease lay in the mind.
The meeting took place at the Hôtel du Nord, for Mrs. St. John declined to accept of her mother's hospitality, even could space have been found in that lady's apartments for their accommodation. Rose had accompanied her mother to the hotel: Mrs. Darling was ever indulgent to Rose over the other two sisters.
"Do you know who I am?" cried Rose, lifting the little boy upon her knee; and so fragile did he seem, that a tremor ran through her, lest he should fall to pieces. "I have never, never seen you, George; do you know my name?"
George looked up at the smiling face; he raised his poor little weak hand, and pushed away the blue ribbons of her pretty bonnet from her chin; he touched the golden hair.
"No, I don't know you," he said.
"Of course not," returned Rose, in resentment. "Charlotte--your mamma would not talk to you about me, I suppose? I am your Aunt Rose, Georgy; your mamma's sister."
"Will you come along with us when we go away?" he asked, much taken with his new aunt. "I wish you would."