"I think she feels the injury to your bicycle very much."
"That's all the same thing. Then, whatever happens, don't let her go
till I'm about again, or stretched on a sofa, or something effective.
Let her fuss about with the trees as much as she likes."
"She can fuss, of course. But she has said a few words which make me
think she wants to be off, and I'm not sure whether--"
"Whether?"
"If she sticks on here, whether she mayn't find her remorse just a
little boring?"
"No, no, she mustn't; it will grow for being fed upon. Look here, Flo,
don't make me out too well."
"I don't think you're very ill."
"I'm recovering gradually, only gradually. The least disturbance may
throw me back."
"Oh!"
"And meanwhile I'll harry Spooner till he lets me be carried into your
sanctum. What's the good of all their carrying dodges if they don't use
them?"
Lady Wilmot put down the pug, rose up, and glanced mischievously at her
cousin.
"Well, I hope you really mean it this time. Remember Helen Arbuthnot."
"If you talk about remembering," began Fenwick boldly. She was gone.
It must have been this conversation which made Lady Wilmot after
luncheon walk with Claudia towards the Black Pond, and become
enthusiastic in her praises of what had been done.
"We are so delighted!" she said. "Of course Peter thinks about the
estate and all that kind of thing, but I think of Marjory. It's such a
comfort to feel that by the time she grows up, she'll have a
decent-looking place of her own ready for her, and really my heart sank
when I brought her here after poor old Sir Ralph's death."