"There is no doubt she has accepted him," reported Mary Mills to her fellows. "They have both appeared again around the yew hedge, and he has taken her hand, and he is smiling. Oh, he is lovely when he smiles!"

"I wish I was grown up," sighed Marion, from behind. "I'd give anything in all the world to have a lover."

"It will be interesting to watch Fluff at supper to-night," exclaimed Katie Philips. "Of course she'll look intensely happy. I wonder if she'll wear an engagement-ring."

The supper hour came. Fluff took her seat among the smaller girls; her face was radiant enough to satisfy the most exacting, but her small dimpled fingers were bare.

"Why do you all stare at my hands so?" she exclaimed once.

"It's on account of the ring," whispered little Sibyl. "Hasn't he given you the ring yet?"

"Who is 'he,' dear?"

"Oh, I wasn't to say. His name is Mr. Lover."

CHAPTER XVI.

SWEETLY ROMANTIC.

Mrs. Carnegie could scarcely be considered the most cheerful companion in the world. There was a general sense of rejoicing when Frances took up her abode at Arden, but the victim who was to spend the greater part of her life in Mrs. Carnegie's heated chambers could scarcely be expected to partic.i.p.ate in it. This good lady having turned her thoughts inward for so long, could only see the world from this extremely narrow standpoint. She was hypochondriacal, she was fretful, and although Frances managed her, and, in consequence, the rest of the household experienced a good deal of ease, Frances herself, whose heart just now was not of the lightest, could not help suffering. Her cheeks grew paler, her figure slighter and thinner. She could only cry at night, but then she certainly cried a good deal.

On a certain sunny afternoon, Mrs. Carnegie, who thought it her bounden duty on all occasions to look out for grievances, suddenly took it upon herself to complain of Frances's looks.

"It is not that you are dull, my dear," she remarked. "You are fairly cheerful, and your laugh is absolutely soothing; but you are pale, dreadfully pale, and pallor jars on my nerves, dear. Yes, I a.s.sure you, in the sensitive state of my poor nerves a pale face like yours is absolutely excruciating to them, darling."

"I am very sorry," replied Frances. She had been a month with Mrs.

Carnegie now, and the changed life had certainly not improved her. "I am very sorry." Then she thought a moment. "Would you like to know why I am pale?"

"How interesting you are, my love--so different from every other individual that comes to see me. It is good for my poor nerves to have my attention distracted to any other trivial matter? Tell me, dearest, why you are so pallid. I do trust the story is exciting--I need excitement, my darling. Is it an affair of the heart, precious?"

Frances's face grew very red. Even Mrs. Carnegie ought to have been satisfied for one brief moment with her bloom.

"I fear I can only give you a very prosaic reason," she said, in her gentle, sad voice. "I have little or no color because I am always shut up in hot rooms, and because I miss the open-air life to which I was accustomed."

Mrs. Carnegie tried to smile, but a frown came between her brows.

"That means," she said, "that you would like to go out. You would leave your poor friend in solitude."

"I would take my friend with me," responded Frances. "And she should have the pleasure of seeing the color coming back into my cheeks."

"And a most interesting sight it would be, darling. But oh, my poor, poor nerves! The neuralgia in my back is positively excruciating at this moment, dearest. I am positively on the rack; even a zephyr would slay me."

"On the contrary," replied Frances in a firm voice, "you would be strengthened and refreshed by the soft, sweet air outside. Come, Mrs.

Carnegie, I am your doctor and nurse, as well as your friend, and I prescribe a drive in the open air for you this morning. After dinner, too, your sofa, shall be placed in the arbor; in short, I intend you to live out-of-doors while this fine weather lasts."

"Ah, dear imperious one! And yet you will kill me with this so-called kindness."

"On the contrary, I will make you a strong woman if I can. Now I am going to ring to order the carriage."

She bustled about, had her way, and to the amazement of every one Mrs.

Carnegie submitted to a drive for an hour in an open carriage.

All the time they were out Frances regaled her with the stories of the poor and suffering people. She told her stories with great skill, knowing just where to leave off, and just the points that would be most likely to interest her companion. So interesting did she make herself that never once during the drive was Mrs. Carnegie heard to mention the word "nerves," and so practical and to the point were her words that the rich woman's purse was opened, and two five-pound notes were given to Frances to relieve those who stood most in need of them.

"Positively I am better," explained Mrs. Carnegie, as she ate her dainty dinner with appet.i.te.

An hour later she was seated cosily in the arbor which faced down the celebrated Rose Walk, a place well known to all the visitors at Arden.

"You are a witch," she said to Frances; "for positively I do declare the racking, torturing pain in my back is easier. The jolting of the carriage ought to have made it ten times worse, but it didn't. I positively can't understand it, my love."

"You forget," said Frances, "that although the jolting of the carriage might have tried your nerves a very little, the soft, sweet air and change of scene did them good."

"And your conversation, dearest--the limpid notes of that sweetest voice. Ah, Frances, your tales were harrowing!"

"Yes; but they were more harrowing to be lived through. You, dear Mrs.

Carnegie, to-day have relieved a certain amount of this misery."

"Ah, my sweet, how good your words sound! They are like balm to this tempest-tossed heart and nerve-racked form. Frances dear, we have an affinity one for the other. I trust it may be our fate to live and die together."

Frances could scarcely suppress a slight shudder. Mrs. Carnegie suddenly caught her arm.

"Who is that radiant-looking young creature coming down the Rose Walk?"

she exclaimed. "See--ah, my dear Frances, what a little beauty! What style! what exquisite bloom!"

"Why, it is Fluff!" exclaimed Frances.

She rushed from Mrs. Carnegie's side, and the next moment Miss Danvers's arms were round her neck.

"Yes, I've come, Frances," she exclaimed. "I have really come back. And who do you think I am staying with?"

"Oh, Fluff--at the Firs! It would be kind of you to cheer my poor old father up with a visit."

"But I'm not cheering him up with any visit--I'm not particularly fond of him. I'm staying with Mr. and Mrs. Spens."

Frances opened her eyes very wide; she felt a kind of shock, and a feeling almost of disgust crept over her.

"Mr. Spens? Surely you don't mean my father's lawyer, Mr. Spens, who lives in Martinstown, Fluff?"

"Yes, I don't mean anybody else."

"But I did not think you knew him."

"I did not when last I saw you, but I do now--very well, oh, very well indeed. He's a darling."

"Fluff! How can you speak of dull old Mr. Spens in that way? Well, you puzzle me. I don't know why you are staying with him."