And has a color in her cheeks——”
Iseult.
Hilary knew Dora better than this wayward little thing knew herself. She came back very penitent and humble, before she could sleep; and after a great deal of kissing and crying for her crossness, she ended by insisting on sleeping with Hilary, and taking that opportunity of keeping her friend awake half the night, talking alternately of Captain Hepburn and Maurice.
The morning hours after breakfast passed rather heavily away. The ladies were together in their sitting-room, the gentlemen were all invisible, nobody exactly knew where. Isabel was grave, Dora was languid, and Hilary was thoughtful.
“Where’s Mr. Huyton?” yawned Dora; “how stupid of him not to come and talk to us! I am so tired. What’s become of him, Isabel?”
“Really I do not know; perhaps he is in the library.”
“No, I went in there, just now, and Mr. Ufford was all alone, reading St. Augustine, I believe, and making extracts. You may guess I did not disturb him. Where is your father, Hilary?”
“He and Mr. Paine are together,” said Miss Duncan.
“Oh, how tired I am,” said Dora, laying a very pale cheek against the crimson back of her easy chair.
“Mr. Huyton never goes away in general, where can he be?”