All the morning she lay quiet and silent on the lounge in the little sitting-room. Her mother, busied with household matters, only looked in upon her occasionally, and, as the eyes were always closed, did not speak, thinking her asleep. Ivy was not asleep. Ten thousand little sprites flitted swiftly through the chambers of her brain, humming, singing, weeping, but always busy, busy. Then another tread softly entered, and she knew her dear old father had drawn a chair close to her, and was looking into her face. Tears came into her eyes, her lip involuntarily quivered, and then she felt the pressure of his——his!—surely that was not her father's kiss! She started up. No, no! that was not her father's face bending over her,—not her father's eyes smiling into hers; but, woe for Ivy! her soul thrilled with a deeper bliss, her heart leaped with a swifter bound, and for a moment all the experience and suffering and resolutions of the last night were as if they had never been. Only for a moment, and then with a strong effort she remembered the impassable gulf.
"A pretty welcome home you have given me!" said Mr. Clerron, lightly.
He saw that something was weighing on her spirits, but did not wish to distress her by seeming to notice it.
"I wait in my library, I walk in my garden, expecting every moment will bring you,—and lo! here you are lying, doing nothing but look pale and pretty as hard as you can."
Ivy smiled, but did not consider it prudent to speak.
"I found your books, however, and have brought them to you. You thought you would escape a lesson finely, did you not? But you see I have outwitted you."
"Yes,—I went for the books yesterday," said Ivy, "but I got talking with Mrs. Simm and forgot them."
"Ah!" he replied, looking somewhat surprised. "I did not know Mrs. Simm could be so entertaining. She must have exerted herself. Pray, now, if it would not be impertinent, upon what subject did she hold forth with eloquence so overpowering that everything else was driven from your mind? The best way of preserving apples, I dare swear, or the superiority of pickled grapes to pickled cucumbers."
"No," said Ivy, with the ghost of an other smile,—"upon various subjects; but not those. How do you do, Mr. Clerron? Have you had a pleasant visit to the city?"
"Very well, I thank you, Miss Geer; and I have not had a remarkably pleasant visit, I am obliged to you. Have I the pleasure of seeing you quite well, Miss Geer,—quite fresh and buoyant?"