Mr. Morrison's visit had drifted off into the distance of time; and the subject of South Sea missions had passed out of sight, for all that appeared. Mrs. Caxton did not bring it up again after that evening, and Eleanor did not. The household went on with its quiet ways. Perhaps Mrs. Caxton was a trifle more silent and ruminative, and Eleanor more persistently busy. She had been used to be busy; in these weeks she seemed to have forgotten how to rest. She looked tired accordingly sometimes; and Mrs. Caxton noticed it.
"What became of your bill, Eleanor?" she said suddenly one evening.
They had both been sitting at work some time without a word.
"My bill, ma'am? What do you mean, aunt Caxton?"
"Your Ragged school bill."
"It reached its second reading, ma'am; and there it met with opposition."
"And fell through?"
"I suppose so—for the present. Its time will come, I hope; the time for its essential provisions, I mean."
"Do you think Mr. Carlisle could have secured its passage?"
"From what I know and have heard of him, I have no doubt he could."
"His love is not very generous," remarked Mrs. Caxton.