HELEN CARROL
"Yes, dear, I know, but your mamma wished you to make an effort.
Miss Devon is to sit with you and try to cheer you up a bit," said
the old woman in a dissatisfied tone, that contrasted strangely with
the tender way in which she stroked the beautiful disordered hair
that hung about the girl's shoulders.
Helen knit her brows and looked most ungracious, but evidently tried
to be civil, for with a courteous wave of her hand toward an easy
chair in the sunny window she said, quietly:
"Please sit down, Miss Devon, and excuse me for a little while. I've
had a bad night, and am too tired to talk just yet. There are books
of all sorts, or the conservatory if you like it better."
"Thank you. I'll read quietly till you want me. Then I shall be very
glad to do any thing I can for you."
With that Christie retired to the big chair, and fell to reading the
first book she took up, a good deal embarrassed by her reception,
and very curious to know what would come next.
The old woman went away after folding the down coverlet carefully
over her darling's feet, and Helen seemed to go to sleep.
For a time the room was very still; the fire burned softly on the
marble hearth, the sun shone warmly on velvet carpet and rich
hangings, the delicate breath of flowers blew in through the
halt-open door that led to a gay little conservatory, and nothing
but the roll of a distant carriage broke the silence now and then.
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