It seemed curious enough, after the storms of the night, to meet in
smooth tranquillity at breakfast. Cynthia was pale; but she talked as
quietly as usual about all manner of indifferent things, while Molly
sate silent, watching and wondering, and becoming convinced that
Cynthia must have gone through a long experience of concealing her
real thoughts and secret troubles before she could have been able to
put on such a semblance of composure. Among the letters that came
in that morning was one from the London Kirkpatricks; but not from
Helen, Cynthia's own particular correspondent. Her sister wrote
to apologize for Helen, who was not well, she said: had had the
influenza, which had left her very weak and poorly.
"Let her come down here for change of air," said Mr. Gibson. "The
country at this time of the year is better than London, except when
the place is surrounded by trees. Now our house is well drained, high
up, gravel-soil, and I'll undertake to doctor her for nothing."
"It would be charming," said Mrs. Gibson, rapidly revolving in
her mind the changes necessary in her household economy before
receiving a young lady accustomed to such a household as Mr.
Kirkpatrick's,--calculating the consequent inconveniences, and
weighing them against the probable advantages, even while she spoke.
"Should not you like it, Cynthia? and Molly too? You then, dear,
would become acquainted with one of the girls, and I have no doubt
you would be asked back again, which would be so very nice!"
"And I shouldn't let her go," said Mr. Gibson, who had acquired an
unfortunate facility of reading his wife's thoughts.
"Dear Helen!" went on Mrs. Gibson, "I should so like to nurse her! We
would make your consulting-room into her own private sitting-room,
my dear."--(It is hardly necessary to say that the scales had been
weighed down by the inconveniences of having a person behind the
scenes for several weeks). "For with an invalid so much depends on
tranquillity. In the drawing-room, for instance, she might constantly
be disturbed by callers; and the dining-room is so--so what shall I
call it? so dinnery,--the smell of meals never seems to leave it; it
would have been different if dear papa had allowed me to throw out
that window--"
"Why can't she have the dressing-room for her bedroom, and the little
room opening out of the drawing-room for her sitting-room?" asked Mr.
Gibson.
"The library," for by this name Mrs. Gibson chose to dignify what had
formerly been called the book-closet--"why, it would hardly hold a
sofa, besides the books and the writing-table; and there are draughts
everywhere. No, my dear, we had better not ask her at all, her own
home is comfortable at any rate!"