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Miriam Nesbit and seven of the Eight Originals were spending a last evening together on the Harlowes' hospitable veranda. They were on the eve of separation. The following day would witness Nora's and Jessica's departure for the conservatory.
Fortunately for the preservation of the secret, the Avenels kept no servant, only an occasional drudge, who came a few hours in the day, and went home to sleep. Mrs. Avenel could count on Mr. Morgan's silence as to the true cause of Nora's death. And Mr. Dale, why should be reveal the dishonour of a family?
"That I was a bully and a cad!" Her hands dropped sharply. "I didn't!" she protested. But she coloured brightly as she spoke, remembering certain remarks of Nora's. "I thought yes I did think you cared too much about being rich and a great swell and all that. But so did I!" She sprang up. "What right had I to talk? When I think how I patronised and looked down upon everybody!"
Stanbury and his wife quite at home at Monkhams." After that he took Nora's hand and kissed it, and at that moment Caroline came back to them. "To-morrow, Mr. Glascock," she said, "you will, I believe, be at liberty to kiss everybody; but to-day you should be more discreet."
"But we'd like to see her now," interposed David mournfully. "What is Oakdale without Anne?" At that moment Mrs. Harlowe, who, after Nora's song, had excused herself and gone into the house, appeared in the door. "Come, children," she smiled, "the feast is spread." "May I escort you to the table?" asked David gravely, offering her his arm.
In a couple of minutes there was a knock at Nora's door. She flew to open it, and Terence came in. "What do you want?" he said. "To talk to you; I have got something to say. Come over and sit by the window." Terence obeyed. "The first thing to do is to put out that light," said Nora. She ran to the dressing table, and before her brother could prevent her had extinguished the candle.
So there they were, the three of them. But Nora's ineffectual battle for repression had driven her near to hysteria. To escape this dire calamity, she flung open a casement window and stood within it, breathing in the heavy fragrance of the rain-laden air. This little comedy had the effect of relaxing them all; and the laughter became general. Abbott's smile faded soonest.
Thrale had looked the doubt in her mind could Gurth the Swineherd "solve a difficulty" for Coeur de Lion? She could only do Anglo-Saxon things, legitimately. The point was, however, covered by Gwen's amendment. Mrs. Thrale had begun a smile of approbation at the phrase "dear old lady," and had felt bound to suspend it for Sister Nora's illness. That was a parenthesis, soon disposed of.
In the midst of her studies, a light step bounded down through the shrubbery from the house, and Daisy had hardly raised her head when Nora was at her side. There was room for her on the seat, and after a glad greeting the children sat down together, to talk much joyful talk and tell childish news, in the course of which Daisy's perplexities came out, for which she had wanted Nora's counsel.
There was a timid but persistent knocking at the door, and, in response to Nora's invitation, a fat and bloated man entered the room hurriedly. He sank into a chair and mopped the perspiration from his forehead. Jocelyn Thew watched him with an air of contemptuous amusement. "You seem distressed, Rentoul," he remarked. "Has anything gone wrong?" "But it is terrible, this!" the newcomer declared.
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