. . . this July noon
Shining on all, on bee and butterfly
And golden beetle creeping in the sun
* * * * * *
This July day, with the sun high in heaven,
And the whole earth rejoicing. . ..
A flower of a day.
LADY FREDERICA FAWCETT was in great tribulation. Her faithful shadow, Miss Winter, had received a letter summoning her at once to the bedside of a dying sister. It was a summons that could not in common humanity be disregarded, and, indeed, Lady Frederica was too kind-hearted to dream of doing so. But she could not refrain from some expression of her distress.
“I am exceedingly sorry for you—and of course, for your poor sister,” she said, when Miss Winter had summoned up courage to break the news, “but I cannot help saying it could not have happened at a more inconvenient time. This is Wednesday, and we leave home on Friday! If I had had any idea of it, nothing should have induced me to consent to going away just now. There is nothing I dislike so much as being at strange places alone—nothing.”
Miss Winter murmured some words of which the only audible ones were “Sir Thomas.” Their effect was by no means that of oil upon the waters.
“Sir Thomas,” repeated Lady Frederica contemptuously. “What good is Sir Thomas to me? I am surprised at you, Miss Winter, knowing him as you do. Will Sir Thomas read aloud to me? Will Sir Thomas match my wools, or go out shopping with me, or write my notes? I wonder you don’t propose that he should make my caps, or get up my laces instead of Todd. Besides I am almost always ill the first few days at a strange place. I quite expect to be laid up when we get to the Isle of Wight—particularly if I am left so much alone with no one to take my thoughts off myself. I really don’t know what to do.”
Miss Winter grew very miserable. Two bright scarlet spots established themselves on her faded pink cheeks, and she looked as if she were going to cry.
“If Mr. Fawcett had not gone!” she ejaculated feebly.
“Trevor! What good would he have done?” said Lady Frederica peevishly.