“No, of course not. I told Miss Jewett to tell her any thing, but be sure to keep her up. He won’t die. Why should he? It will come gradually to her. The very saddest case I know. And to think that it might have been avoided. I didn’t tell his father that, though. Felix has no one but himself to thank. I warned him a year ago. Brains without common sense is a very poor commodity. What did the minister tell you Miss Tessa? I haven’t been to church since Sue was a baby.”
“No wonder that I’m a heathen, then; any body would be with such a father,” retorted Sue.
Dr. Lake excused himself abruptly, and crossing the hall went into the office.
“That foolish boy has taught me a lesson. I would take a vacation this summer, only if I leave Sue at home she would run off and marry Lake before a week.”
“You needn’t be afraid,” answered Sue, scornfully. “I look higher than Gerald Lake.”
The office door stood ajar. Sue colored with vexation as the words in her high voice left her lips.
“Shall we go into the parlor?” she said rising. “You can find a book and I’ll go to sleep.”
The parlors had been refurnished in crimson and brown. Standing in the centre of the front parlor, Tessa exclaimed, “Oh, how pretty!”
“Isn’t it? All my taste. Dr. Lake did advise me, though; he went with me. Now, you shall sit in the front or back just as you please, in the most comfortable of chairs, and I will sit opposite you and snooze,—that is,” rather doubtfully, for she was afraid of Tessa, “unless you will let me tell you my secret.”
In passing through the rooms, Tessa had taken a volume of Josephus from a table; she settled herself at one of the back windows in a pretty crimson and brown chair, smoothed the folds of her black dress, folded her hands in her lap over the green volume, and looked up at Sue. Sue and a book in brown paper were in another crimson and brown chair at another window; flushed and vexed she played with the edges of her book.