"No, I got it last night. I got it for you, Ellie."
"For me!" said Ellen, her colour deepening very much; "for me! did you? Oh, thank you! oh, I'm so much obliged to you, Mr. John!"
"It is only an answer to one of your questions."
"This! is it? I don't know what, I am sure. Oh, I wish I could do something to please you, Mr. John!"
"You shall, Ellie; you shall give me a brother's right again."
Blushingly Ellen approached her lips to receive one of his grave kisses; and then, not at all displeased, went down on the floor, and was lost in her book.
Oh, the long joy of that New Year's day! how shall it be told? The pleasure of that delightful book, in which she was wrapped the whole day even when called off, as she often was, by Ellen Chauncey, to help her in fifty little matters of business or pleasure. These were attended to, and faithfully and cheerfully, but the book was in her head all the while. And this pleasure was mixed with Alice's pleasure, the flowers and the miniature, and Mr. Marshman's restored kindness. She never met John's or Alice's eye that day without a smile. Even when she went to be dressed, her book went with her, and was laid on the bed within sight, ready to be taken up the moment she was at liberty. Ellen Chauncey lent her a white frock, which was found to answer very well with a tuck let out; and Alice herself dressed her. While this was doing, Margaret Dunscombe put her head in at the door to ask Anne, Miss Sophia's maid, if she was almost ready to come and curl her hair.
"Indeed I can't say that I am, Miss Margaret," said Anne. "I've something to do for Miss Humphreys, and Miss Sophia hasn't so much as done the first thing towards beginning to get ready yet. It'll be a good hour, and more."
Margaret went away, exclaiming, impatiently, that she could get nobody to help her, and would have to wait till everybody was downstairs.
A few minutes after, she heard Ellen's voice at the door of her room, asking if she might come in.