“I’ve just been telling Effie that we must do something to cheer her up and put heart into her. She’s got the summer before her now, and she’s getting stronger. We can’t let her shut herself up much longer. We must get her out into the fresh air and sunshine, and make a new woman of her.”
Cyril was the speaker, and he looked at Effie with a kindly smile. She smiled back, and her cheek glowed. There was an animation and brightness about her that Sheila had not seen before.
“I should like that,” she said eagerly, “but they will hardly let me do anything. I’m always asking to do things; but I can never get leave—hardly.”
“Then we’ll take French leave,” said Cyril gaily. “Look here, Effie; suppose I dress up in a wig and spectacles, and play the part of a new doctor, will you let me prescribe for you?”
She clapped her hands and laughed.
“I should think I would indeed! Oh, Cyril, do be doctor for a little while and tell me what to do! You have such splendid ideas!”
“Well, my first idea would be to get you out on to horseback. You would like it no end if you once got used to it, and it would be a capital thing for you. Here’s Sheila with her horse to be a companion, and I can always hire a decent hack from Lovejoy and take you out. Your father would make nothing of getting you a little easy-paced cob, gentle, and used to a lady; and there’s the park for you to take your first rides in, till you have got your nerve and seat well assured. It would be no end of a good thing for you; don’t you think so yourself?”
“Oh, yes, Cyril!” cried Effie eagerly, and Sheila’s eyes were shining, for she saw that if Effie once took to riding, she would get her share of her favourite exercise. “You know I used to have my pony, but when I outgrew him they never got me another. Mother is nervous, and there was so much trouble and illness in the house, and then I got ill myself. But I’ll talk to father. I’ll get his leave, and you’ll choose me a cob, won’t you, and teach me how to ride again? I hope I sha’n’t be very stupid; but you know I do get rather nervous sometimes now; I suppose it’s being ill. Things get on my mind and I can’t get them off; but I should feel safe with you.”
“Oh, I’ll take care of you!” answered Cyril. “We shall just have to get the doctor on our side and everything will be right, you’ll see.”
“I don’t care what the doctor says!” cried Effie. “I mean to do as I like now. I’ve obeyed doctors quite long enough, and I’m not a bit better for it. You shall be my doctor, Cyril. I shall obey you and defy everybody else. Won’t it be fun? Do ask about a nice horse for me. Father will give me anything I want, I know. And he thinks such a lot of you, Cyril. If you’ll only be there to help me, he won’t mind what I do.”