Mildred smiled fondly at her girl; during the last three years, ever since her illness, she had looked on Olive as a sacred and special charge, and as care begets tenderness as surely as love does love, so had Olive's ailing but noble nature gained a larger share of Mildred's warm affections than even Polly's brightness or Chriss's saucy piquancy could win.
'Have you been very happy to-night, dear?' she asked, softly. 'Have you been satisfied with Olive's ovation?'
'Oh, Aunt Milly! it has made me too glad; did you hear what Cardie said? it made me feel so proud and so ashamed. Do you know there were actually tears in papa's eyes when he kissed me.'
'We are all so proud of our girl, you see.'
'They almost make me cry between them. I wanted to get away and hide myself, only Mr. Marsden would go on talking to me.'
'Yes, I heard him; he was very amusing; he is full of queer hobbies.'
'I cannot help being sorry for him, he must lose so much, you know; poetry is a sort of sixth sense to me.'
'Darling, you must use your sweet gift well.'
'That is what I have been thinking,' laying her burning face against her aunt's shoulders, as they both stood looking down at a glimmer of shining water below them. 'Aunt Milly, do you remember what you said to comfort me when I was so wickedly lamenting that I had not died?'
Mildred shook her head.