Chapter Fourteen.
Lady Mildred Makes up her Mind.
Jerry was sitting up in bed; he was so far better that no serious illness was now to be feared, but he was weak and depressed, feeling vaguely “sorry for himself,” not quite sure what he wanted, nor eager to profit by the doctor’s permission to get up in the afternoon, and go down to have tea in the drawing-room.
He glanced up listlessly as Charlotte came in.
“I have an hour still before I need to go to school,” she said, “so I have come up to you, Jerry: there is a letter about you this morning.”
“About me!” Jerry exclaimed; “anything about school, do you mean? They know I’m ill.”
“No, not from school; it’s from Miss Meredon, to ask how you are; they’re in London.”
“How nice of her!” said Jerry, his eyes brightening. “I’m sure you must see, Charlotte, how nice she is.”
“Yes,” Charlotte allowed; “she is kind and good; I’ll never say she’s not. But it can’t be difficult to be nice when one has everything one wants, like her,” she added, reverting to her old strain.