"So I judged, daughter. We are sorry to make her acquaintance in this manner, and glad to be of service. Bring another pillow, Ella."
It was all gracefully and graciously said. Mrs. Ansted was not a woman who would have thought of seeking out, and calling in a friendly way on her daughter's music-teacher; but she was one who, when that music-teacher appeared at her door in need of assistance, could bestow it heartily and delicately.
"She is not like mamma in the least—oh, not in any particular—and yet I think she means to be a good woman, so far as she sees the way to it out of the environments of her world. I wonder if there is any way in which I am to help her, and if this is a beginning?"
This was the mental comment of the music-teacher, who was supposed to be absorbed in her own troubles.
It all arranged itself speedily and naturally. The doctor came and pronounced the ankle badly sprained, advised entire quiet for a few days, heartily seconded Mrs. Ansted's suggestion that the prisoner should remain with them, and when Claire faintly demurred, that lady said, decidedly:
"Why, of course, it will be the proper thing to do. It is not as though you were at home. The academy is at best, a poor place in which to secure quiet, and there is no occasion for submitting to the discomfort of getting there. This is decidedly the place for you. Since it was the treacherous ice on our walk that brought you to grief, you must allow us to make what amends we can. I will send word to Mrs. Foster at once."
Claire yielded gracefully; in truth, she was rather anxious to do so. She was interested in the Ansteds. She had been wondering how she could make their acquaintance, and interest them in matters that she believed required their aid. She had been doing more than wondering. Only this morning, thinking of the subject, as she locked her door for prayer, she had carried it to Christ, and asked him for opportunities, if indeed he meant that she was to work in this direction. What a signal opportunity! Certainly not of her planning. She must take care how she closed the door on it. Behold her, then, an hour later, domiciled in one of the guest chambers of the beautiful old home, where every touch of taste and refinement, yes, and luxury, soothed her heart like a breath from home. This was the home to which she had heretofore been accustomed. More elegant her own had been, it is true, but the same disregard to money that had characterized the belongings of her father's house were apparent here; everything spoke of a full purse and a cultured taste. It was very foolish, but Claire could not help a little sigh of satisfaction over the delicacy of the curtains and the fineness of the bed draperies. Had she really missed things of that sort so much? she asked herself. Yes, she had! her truthful heart responded. She liked all soft and fair and pretty things; but, after all, the main reason for their soothing influence now was that they said "home" and "mother" to her.
Laid aside thus suddenly from her regular line of work, the morning found her, dressed, and lying on the fawn-colored couch in her pretty room, considering what there was to do that day. She had already feasted royally; the delicate breakfast that had been sent up to her was served on rare old china, and accompanied with the finest of damask and the brightest of solid silver.
They commented on her in the dining-room below after this fashion:
"Poor creature, I suppose she thinks she has dropped into fairy-land. She looks as though she could appreciate the little refinements of life. I quite enjoyed sending her that quaint old cream cup. I fancy she has taste enough to admire it." This from the mother. Then Alice: