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Updated: May 6, 2025
"No," said Greta, tracing the pattern of the sunlight on her skirt. "But I think that when we hope, we are not brave, because we are expecting something for ourselves. Chris says that hope is prayer, and if it is prayer, then all the time we are hoping, we are asking for something, and it is not brave to ask for things." A smile curved Dawney's mouth. "Go on, Philosopher!" he said.
Greta, under forfeit of a kiss, was bound to tell the giver by the feel of the gift. Her swift, supple little hands explored noiselessly; and in every case she guessed right. Dawney's present, a kitten, made a scene by clawing at her hair. "That is Dr. Edmund's," she cried at once.
"Patience," repeated Dawney's voice, "is one thing; patience where there is responsibility is another. I've not had a wink of sleep these last two nights." There was a faint, shrill swish of silk. "Is he so very ill?" Christian held her breath. The answer came at last. "Has he made his will? With this trouble in the side again, I tell you plainly, Mrs. Decie, there's little or no chance."
They had not gone far along the road, however, before the others passed them in a carriage, and at the strange sight Miss Naylor could be seen pursing her lips; Cousin Teresa nodding pleasantly; a smile on Dawney's face; and beside him Greta, very demure. Harz began to laugh. "What are you laughing at?" asked Christian. "You English are so funny.
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