“Do you think Herbert would mind deferring his marriage until after I have shuffled off this mortal coil?” went on Ninette complacently. “I don’t like the idea of Lady Marjorie crowing over me on her wedding-day. She never liked me, I know; and she will flatter herself that she has scored a triumph over me. I would much rather be out of the way first, so that she will be denied that satisfaction.”
Celia shivered. “Oh, Mrs. Williams, I don’t like to hear you talk like that,” she said. “I am sure Lady Marjorie is too nice to do anything of the sort. Besides, you may get better: I sincerely hope you will.”
“That is not likely,” rejoined Ninette, with a sigh, “although I am certainly a little more hopeful to-day. My nephew is coming over from Australia to assist at the operation, and I have great confidence in him.”
Celia pricked up her ears. “Dr. Milnes?” she queried, the colour rising to her cheeks.
“Yes. Oh, you know him, of course: I had forgotten. I received a letter from him this morning, in which he says he will arrive in England a week after I receive it. You can read it, if you like.”
She stretched out her hand for the missive, and passed it over to the girl, who devoured the contents with avidity.
“Dear Aunt” (it ran)—
“Sir Dighton Forbes has cabled me concerning your illness, the news of which I was very sorry to receive. I hope to leave here next week if Miss Thornton is able to travel at that time, and should arrive at Tilbury about a week or ten days after this letter reaches you. My specialty is consumption, not cancer, but of course I shall do my utmost for you. Hoping to find you no worse than you are at present—
Sincerely yours,
G. H. Milnes.”
Miss Thornton again! Celia’s heart sank. She would not have confessed it, but she had taken a positive dislike to the name. She handed the letter back in silence, her face becoming thoughtful as she tried to imagine what Miss Thornton would be like.