“But we are not going to live in London,” said Blanche, “and the country in some parts of England is very bright and cheerful. Of course, this is the very dullest time of the year; we must remember that. Perhaps it is a good thing to begin at the worst; people say so, but I am not quite sure. There is a great deal in first impressions—bright ones leave an after-glow.”
Just then their mother came into the room.
“Isn’t it nice that the fog has gone?” she said. “And to me there is something quite exhilarating in the sight of a London street! Dear me, how it carries one back—”
She stood just behind the two girls, and as Blanche glanced round at her, she thought how very pretty her mother still was. Her eyes were so bright, and the slight flush on her cheeks made her look so young.
“You have slept well, mamma, haven’t you?” she said affectionately. “You seem quite fresh and energetic.”
“Yes, I feel so; and hungry too. I always think London air makes me hungry, even though people abuse it so. Here comes breakfast.—You look well too, Blanchie.—But Stasy, have you not got over your fatigue yet?”
“I don’t know,” said Stasy. “Perhaps not; everything feels so strange. I don’t think I like London, mamma.”
Mrs Derwent laughed, but she seemed a little troubled too. Stasy, like herself, was very impressionable, but less buoyant. She had been full of enthusiastic delight at the thought of coming to England, and now she seemed in danger of going to the other extreme.
Blanche darted a somewhat reproachful look at her sister.