Faith, like everybody else, looked for the doctor's answer, though she hardly knew what she was looking at.
"A lady, aunt Ellen," the doctor went on, glancing at her,—"had made a necklace of her mother's arms,—and a cross, more precious than diamonds, of her mother's hands; and clasping this cross to her breast, adorned with this most exquisite and rare adornment, had—gone to sleep!"
"And for once," said Mrs. Somers, "you preferred the wearer to the jewels and—went into a trance! I can imagine you!"
"I? not I!"—said the doctor—"I went up stairs. But you have no idea of the effect."
Faith had been experiencing some of the scattering fire of society, which hits no one knows where and no one knows when. First the name of Phil Davids had ploughed up the ground at her right; then the question about the man who had fired the shot had ploughed up the ground at her left; and shaken first by one and then by the other she had welcomed the doctor's change of subject and now was smiling as pleased as anybody.
"I didn't suppose the trance was a long one," said Mrs. Somers, with a little raising of her eyebrows. "Faith, my dear, what have you done to that little Seacomb child? I can't get over my astonishment at his transformation."
"I am afraid there isn't much transformation yet," Faith said. "He listens very quietly and behaves well in school—but I don't know how he is at home."
"You are not a school teacher too?" said the doctor.
"It isn't a bad trade," said Faith, though her cheeks had answered for her another way.
"Not a bad trade—certainly—but one may have too many trades. Aunt Ellen—I had the honour—do you believe it? of giving Miss Derrick lessons this morning."