"You do not do your share, Eleanor," she said one day; "you are become nothing of a talker; and I can bear witness you had a tongue once. Has religion made you silent, my dear?"
"No, aunty," said Eleanor laughing; "but you forget—you have somebody else to talk to now."
"I am sure, and so have you."
"No ma'am—Mr. Rhys does not talk to me generally."
"I would return good for evil, then; and not silence for silence."
"I can't, aunty. Don't you know, there are some people that have a sort of quieting effect upon one?"
"I don't think anybody ever did upon me," said Mrs. Caxton; "and I am sure Mr. Rhys would be shocked if he knew the effect of his presence."
One morning Mrs. Caxton asked Mr. Rhys at breakfast if he had leisure to unpack a box for her. He said yes, with great alacrity; and Mrs. Caxton had the box brought in.
"What is it?" said Mr. Rhys as he began his work. "Am I to take care of china and glass—or to find gardener's plants nicely done up—or best of all, books?"
"I hope, something better yet," said Mrs. Caxton.