Stasy reddened a little.
“It wasn’t a piece of news,” she said. “It was an—an—” And she hesitated.
“What?” asked her mother.
“I’m not quite sure,” Stasy replied. “I’m not quite sure but that it was an inspiration!”
Both Mrs Derwent and Blanche looked up.
“Do tell us,” said Blanche, but Stasy still hesitated.
“If you don’t mind, mamma dear,” she began, “I think I’d rather tell it to Blanchie alone first, and see what she thinks. You might be a little vexed with me. It may have a little to do with what Mr Bracy says to-morrow.”
“Very well, dear,” said Mrs Derwent. “I’m quite content to wait, and not to hear it at all, if you’d rather not tell me after consulting with Blanchie.”
She had not, perhaps, any very great faith in the practicability of Stasy’s inspirations, but she was delighted to see the girl rising with such unselfish cheerfulness to meet their difficulties.
“After all,” she said to herself, “troubles are often blessings in disguise. This may be the making of Stasy, and give her the stability she needs.”