“What is it?” was the first eager question.

“He has been attempting rather too much of late,” was the answer, “and has knocked himself up.  I came to tell you, because I think I had better stay with him, and perhaps you might miss me.”

“O no, no, pray go to him.  Nothing satisfies me so well about him as that you should be there, except that I cannot bear to give you so much trouble.  Don’t stay here answering questions.  He will be so restless if he misses you—­”

“Don’t you sit imagining, Mary; let Henrietta read to you.”

This proposal made Henrietta look so piteous and wistful that her mother said, “No, no, let her go to Freddy, poor child.  I dare say he wants her.”

“By no means,” said Aunt Geoffrey, opening the door; “he will be quieter without her.”

Henrietta was annoyed, and walked about the room, instead of sitting down to read.  She was too fond of her own will to like being thus checked, and she thought she had quite as good a right to be with her brother as her aunt could have.  Every temper has one side or other on which it is susceptible; and this was hers.  She thought it affection for her brother, whereas it was impatience of being ordered.

Her mother forced herself to speak cheerfully.  “Aunt Geoffrey is a capital nurse,” said she; “there is something so decided about her that it always does one good.  It saves all the trouble and perplexity of thinking for oneself.”

“I had rather judge for myself,” said Henrietta.

“That is all very well to talk of,” said her mother, smiling sadly, “but it is a very different thing when you are obliged to do it.”

“Well, what do you like to hear?” said Henrietta, who found herself too cross for conversation.  “The old man’s home?”

“Do not read unless you like it, my dear; I think you must be tired.  You would want ‘lungs of brass’ to go on all day to both of us.  You had better not.  I should like to talk.”

Henrietta being in a wilful fit, chose nevertheless to read, because it gave her the satisfaction of feeling that Aunt Geoffrey was inflicting a hardship upon her; although her mother would have preferred conversation.  So she took up a book, and began, without any perception of the sense of what she was reading, but her thoughts dwelling partly on her brother, and partly on her aunt’s provoking ways.  She read on through a whole chapter, then closing the book hastily, exclaimed, “I must go and see what Aunt Geoffrey is doing with Fred.”

“She is not such a very dangerous person,” said Mrs. Frederick Langford, almost laughing at the form of the expression.

“Well, but you surely want to know how he is, mamma?”

“To be sure I do, but I am so afraid of his being disturbed.  If he was just going to sleep now.”

“Yes, but you know how softly I can open the door.”

“Your aunt would let us know if there was anything to hear.  Pray take care, my dear.”