Her first words to Mary Sherwood that evening were:
“How is Dr. Lake?”
“Sick. Worse. Very sick, I suspect. Their girl told our girl that Mrs. Lake was frightened almost to death.”
“I hope she is,” said Nan Gerard, “she deserves to be.”
Tessa kept herself in a sofa corner all the evening.
Nan said that she was a queen surrounded by courtiers, for first one and then another came for a quiet talk. When she was not talking or listening, she was watching: figures, faces, voices, motions, all held something in them worth her studying; she had been watching under cover of a book of engravings Professor Towne, for some time before he came and stood at the arm of her sofa.
She was shy, at first, as she ever was with strangers, but no one could be shy with him for a longer time than five minutes. Dine’s last letter had contained an account of an afternoon with Miss Towne, with many quotations from her sayings.
“My sister thinks that your sister is a saint,” said Tessa; “she has written me about her beautiful life.”
“All about her invalids, I suppose. Shut-ins she calls them! Invalids are her mania; she had thirty-five on her list at her last writing; she finds them north, south, east, and west.”
“Dine loves to hear about them; Miss Towne gives her some of their letters to read to Aunt Theresa. Dine runs over every morning to hear about last night’s mail. I am looking forward to my good times with her if she will be as good to me as she is to my little sister.”