“What a high opinion you seem to have of her!” said Florence, half pettishly. “To me she is just a pretty, shallow child—with something ingenuous and sweet about her—yes, that I must allow. But really, I know little more of her than on the day she came. I have had to give up taking any part in the theatricals, you know, Rex, and it is the one thing I could have thrown myself into, and—forgotten myself a little. But Alicia took it into her head to act, and mother would have been left all to herself really. Besides which I couldn’t have kept my temper with Trixie and that Mab of hers,” she concluded, honestly.
“I am sorry you had to give it up. But I am sure you did it for the best. It makes me still more anxious about that child, however,” said Rex. “And I am afraid her mother is—well, very silly.”
“You will have to look after her doubly,” said Florence. “She couldn’t have a better guardian. It may distract your thoughts a little—poor Rex. What is your last news, by the bye?”
“No better, except that she has stood the journey so far pretty well,” he replied.
The same question was asked him again that afternoon in the interval of one of the daily or twice-a-day rehearsals. Imogen, blushing as she did so, asked gently what news he had.
“No better, thank you,” he said half absently, “except that the crossing has been accomplished pretty successfully.”
“The crossing?” Imogen repeated. “Then is she—is your sister to undergo the operation abroad? Or is it over?”
Rex recollected himself.
“Oh no,” he said quickly. “I was confusing—no, no—Angey, my sister, is pretty well in herself. Nothing can be done about her eyes for some time yet.” He gave a half sigh and hesitated. “I was thinking of—”
But Imogen would not let him finish.