After my illness came a sense of change.  I had lost that careless security in my strength which I had always possessed, and was troubled with vague doubts, that made me feel I needed help from without.

I did not see Charles while I was ill, for he was absent most of the time.  I knew when he was at home by the silence which pervaded the premises.  When he was not there, Alice spread the children in all directions, and the servants gave tongue.

He was not at home the day I went downstairs, and I missed him, continually asking myself, “Why do I?” As I sat with Alice in the garden-room, I said, “Alice.”  She looked up from her sewing.  “I am thinking of Charles.”

“Yes.  He will be glad to see you again.”

“Is he really related to me?”

“He told you so, did he not?  And his name certainly is Morgeson.”

“But we are wholly unlike, are we not?”

“Wholly; but why do you ask?”

“He influences me so strongly.”

“Influences you?” she echoed.

“Yes”; and, with an effort, “I believe I influence him.”

“You are very handsome,” she said, with a little sharpness.  “So are flowers,” I said to myself.

“It is not that, Alice,” I answered peevishly; “you know better.”

“You are peculiar, then; it may be he likes you for being so.  He is odd, you know; but his oddity never troubles me.”  And she resumed her sewing with a placid face.

“Veronica is odd, also,” was my thought; “but oddity there runs in a different direction.”  Her image appeared to me, pale, delicate, unyielding.  I seemed to wash like a weed at her base.

“You should see my sister, Alice.”

“Charles spoke of her; he says she plays beautifully.  If you feel strong next week, we will go to Boston, and make our winter purchases.  By the way, I hope you are not nervous.  To go back to Charles, I have noticed how little you say to him.  You know he never talks.  The influence you speak of—­it does not make you dislike him?”

“No; I meant to say—­my choice of words must be poor—­that it was possible I might be thinking too much of him; he is your husband, you know, though I do not think he is particularly interesting, or pleasing.”

She laughed, as if highly amused, and said:  “Well, about our dresses.  You need a ball dress, so do I; for we shall have balls this winter, and if the children are well, we will go.  I think, too, that you had better get a gray cloth pelisse, with a fur trimming.  We dress so much at church.”

“Perhaps,” I said.  “And how will a gray hat with feathers look?  I must first write father, and ask for more money.”

“Of course; but he allows you all you want.”

“He is not so very rich; we do not live as handsomely as you do.”

It was tea-time when we had finished our confab, and Alice sent me to bed soon after.  I was comfortably drowsy when I heard Charles driving into the stable.  “There he is,” I thought, with a light heart, for I felt better since I had spoken to Alice of him.  Her matter-of-fact air had blown away the cobwebs that had gathered across my fancy.