‘Ever yours, ‘THOMAS MAY.’
The last sentence referred to a brief medical summary of her symptoms, on a separate paper.
‘Can this be Tom?’ was the Doctor’s exclamation. ‘Poor boy! it is going very hard with him!’
‘This would soften it more than anything else could,’ said Ethel.
‘Oh yes! You write. Yes, and I’ll write, and tell him he is free to take his own way. Poor child! she would have been a good girl if she had known how. Well, of all my eleven children that Tom should be the one to go on in this way!’
‘Poor dear Tom! What do you think of his statement of her case? Is she so very ill?’
Dr. May screwed up his face. ‘A sad variety of mischief,’ he said; ‘if all be as he thinks, I doubt his getting her home; but he is young, and has his heart in it. I have seen her mother in a state like this—only without the diseased lungs. You can’t remember it; but poor Ward never thought he could be grateful enough after she was pulled through. However, this is an aggravated case, and looks bad—very bad! It is a mournful ending for that poor boy’s patience—it will sink very deep, and he will be a sadder man all his days, but I would not hinder his laying up a treasure that will brighten as he grows older.’
‘Thank you, papa. I shall tell him what you say.’
‘I shall write—to her I think. I owe him something for not proving that it is all as a study of pneumonia. I say, Ethel, what is become of the “Diseases of Climate?”’ he added, with a twinkle in his eye.
‘In the nine beginnings.’
‘And how about the Massissauga Company?’
‘You heartless old worldly-minded father!’ said Ethel. ‘When you take to prudence for Tom, what is the world coming to?’
‘Into order,’ said the Doctor, shaking himself into the coat she held for him. ‘Tom surrendered to a pet patient of mine. Now for poor Leonard! Good-bye, young people! I am off to Cocksmoor!’
‘Please take me, grandpapa,’ cried Dickie, hopping into the hall.
‘You, you one-legged manikin! I’m going over all the world; and how are you to get home?’
‘On Leonard’s back,’ said the undaunted Dickie.
‘Not so, master: poor Leonard has news here that will take the taste of nonsense out of his mouth.’
‘I am his friend,’ said Dickie, with dignity.
‘Then your friendship must not disturb him over his letters. And can you sit in the carriage and twirl your thumbs while I am at Fordham?’
‘I shall not twirl my thumbs. I shall make out a problem on my ship chess-board.’
‘That’s the boy who was sent from the Antipodes, that he might not be spoilt!’ quoth Aubrey, as the Doctor followed the child into the carriage.
‘Granting reasonable wishes is not spoiling,’ said Ethel.
‘May the system succeed as well with Dickie as with—’ and Aubrey in one flourish indicated Gertrude and himself.
‘Ay, we shall judge by the reception of Ethel’s tidings!’ cried Gertrude. ‘Now for it, Ethel. Read us Tom’s letter, confute the engineer, hoist with his own petard.’
‘Now, Ethel, confute the Daisy, the green field daisy—the simple innocent daisy, deluded by “Diseases of Climate.”’
‘Ethel looks as concerned as if it were fatal truth,’ added Gertrude.
‘What is it?’ asked Aubrey. ‘If Henry Ward has gone down in a monitor at Charleston, I’ll forgive him.’
‘Not that,’ said Ethel; ‘but we little thought how ill poor Ave is.’
‘Dangerously?’ said Aubrey, gravely.
‘Not perhaps immediately so; but Tom means to marry at once, that he may have a chance of bringing her home to see Leonard.’
‘Another shock for Leonard,’ said Aubrey, quite subdued, ‘why can’t he have a little respite?’
‘May they at least meet once more!’ said Ethel; ‘there will be some comfort in looking to that!’
‘And what a fellow Tom is to have thought of it,’ added Aubrey. ‘Nobody will ever dare to say again that he is not the best of the kit of us! I must be off now to the meet: but if you are writing, Ethel, I wish you would give her my love, or whatever he would like, and tell him he is a credit to the family. I say, may I tell George Rivers?’
‘Oh yes; it will soon be in the air; and Charles Cheviot will be down on us!’
Away went Aubrey to mount the hunter that George Rivers placed at his service.
Gertrude, who had been struck dumb, looked up to ask, ‘Then it is really so?’
‘Indeed it is.’
‘Then,’ cried Gertrude, vehemently, ‘you and he have been deceiving us all this time!’
‘No, Gertrude, there was nothing to tell. I did not really know, and I could not gossip about him.’
‘You might have hinted.’
‘I tried, but I was clumsy.’
‘I hate hints!’ exclaimed the impetuous young lady; ‘one can’t understand them, and gets the credit of neglecting them. If people have a secret attachment, they ought to let all their family know!’
‘Perhaps they do in Ireland.’
‘You don’t feel one grain for me, Ethel,’ said Gertrude, with tears in her eyes. ‘Only think how Tom led me on to say horrid things about the Wards; and now to recollect them, when she is so ill too—and he—’ She burst into sobs.
‘My poor Daisy! I dare say it was half my fault.’
Gertrude gave an impatient leap. ‘There you go again! calling it your fault is worse than Charles’s improving the circumstance. It was my fault, and it shall be my fault, and nobody else’s fault, except Tom’s, and he will hate me, and never let me come near her to show that I am not a nasty spiteful thing!’
‘I think that if you are quiet and kind, and not flighty, he will forget all that, and be glad to let you be a sister to her.’
‘A sister to Ave Ward! Pretty preferment!’ muttered Gertrude.
‘Poor Ave! After the way she has borne her troubles, we shall feel it an honour to be sisters to her.’
‘And that chair!’ broke out Gertrude. ‘O, Ethel, you did out of malice prepense make me vow it should be for Mrs. Thomas May.’
‘Well, Daisy, if you won’t suspect me of improving the circumstance, I should say that finishing it for her would be capital discipline.’
‘Horrid mockery, I should say,’ returned Gertrude, sadly; ‘a gaudy rose-coloured chair, all over white fox-gloves, for a person in that state—’
‘Poor Tom’s great wish is to have her drawing-room made as charming as possible; and it would be a real welcome to her.’
‘Luckily,’ said Gertrude, breaking into laughter again, ‘they don’t know when it began; how in a weak moment I admired the pattern, and Blanche inflicted it and all its appurtenances on me, hoping to convert me to a fancy-work-woman! Dear me, pride has a fall! I loved to answer “Three stitches,” when Mrs. Blanche asked after my progress.’
‘Ah, Daisy, if you did but respect any one!’
‘If they would not all be tiresome! Seriously, I know I must finish the thing, because of my word.’
‘Yes, and I believe keeping a light word that has turned out heavy, is the best help in bridling the tongue.’
‘And, Ethel, I will really try to be seen and not heard while I am about the work,’ said Gertrude, with an earnestness which proved that she was more sorry than her manner conveyed.