'She is really very sorry for having pained you.'
'Sorry! Bless my heart, you don't know Prissy. She will be that contrite for showing the sharp edge of her tongue that there will be nothing she will not do to make amends. It will be, "Father, what will you have?" and, "Father, do you think you could enjoy that?" from morning to night, as though I were a new-born babe to be tended. No, no, you are not up to Prissy. She has not got her mother's sweet, charitable nature—my Susan, bless her dear heart! always thought the best of everybody—but Prissy is a good girl, for all that.'
Audrey smiled as she drew down a tendril of jasmine to inhale its honeyed fragrance. There was not much girlhood left in the faded, sorrowful woman who had left them just now; but in the father's fond eyes Priscilla would always be a girl. Then, in her serious, sweet way, she began to talk to her old friend—drawing him out, and listening to those vague, far old memories that seemed dearer to him day by day, until he had grown soothed and comforted.
Mrs. Baxter joined them by and by, but she did not interrupt them, except to press another slice of the home-made cake on Audrey.
When she rose to go, father and daughter accompanied her to the gate, and wished her a hearty God-speed.
'Good-bye, my dear old friends,' she returned cheerfully; 'in seven weeks I shall hope to see you again. Take care of Mr. O'Brien, Mrs. Baxter.'
'Oh yes, Miss Ross, I will take care of him. It is not as if one could have a second parent. Father, put on your hat; the dews are falling, and you are not as young as you used to be.'