Janet's Love and Service Part 72

"Nothing for which there is any help," said he. "No there is nothing wrong."

"I am ready, Charlie," said Harry, coming forward. "And Graeme, you are not to trouble yourself about Rose's conquests. When she goes to her own house--'palatial' or otherwise--and the sooner the better for all concerned--you are coming to take care of Charlie and me."

"There may be two or three words to be said on that subject," said Arthur, laughing.

"I am sure neither you nor f.a.n.n.y will venture to object; you have had Graeme all your life--at least for the last seven years. I should like to hear you, just. I am not joking, Graeme."

Graeme laughed.

"There is no hurry about it, is there? I have heard of people changing their minds; and I won't set my heart on it, in case I should be disappointed."

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT.

So Rose came home at last. Not just the Rose who had left them, now more than two years ago, even in the eyes of her sister. Her brothers thought her greatly changed and improved. She was more womanly, and dignified, and self-reliant, they said, and Graeme a.s.sented, wondering and pleased; though it had been the desire of her heart that her sister should come back to her just what she was when she went away.

She would probably have changed quite as much during those two years, had they been pa.s.sed at home, though they might not have seen it so plainly. But Arthur declared that she had become Americanised to an astonis.h.i.+ng degree, not making it quite clear whether he thought that an improvement, indeed not being very clear about it himself. Harry agreed with him, without the reservation; for Harry admired the American ladies, and took in good part Rose's hints and congratulations with regard to a certain Miss Cora Snider, an heiress and a beauty of C---.

"A trifle older than Harry," explained she, laughing, aside to Graeme; "but that, of course, is a small matter, comparatively, other things 'being agreeable.'"

"Of course," said Harry, with a shrug that set Graeme's fancy at rest about Miss Cora Snider.

In less time than Graeme at first supposed possible, they fell back into their old ways again. Rose's dignity and self-reliance were for her brothers and her friends generally. With Graeme she was, in a day or two, just what she had been before she went away--a dear child and sister, to be checked and chided, now and then; to be caressed and cared for always; growing, day by day, dearer and fairer to her sister's loving eyes. She was glad to be at home again. She was very fond of Norman and Hilda and their boys, and she had been very happy with them; but there was no one like Graeme, and there was no place like home. So she fell into her old place and ways, and was so exactly the Rosie of old times, that Graeme smiled in secret over the idea of her child having been in danger of being spoiled by admiration or by a love of it.

It was quite impossible to believe that a love of pleasure would let her be so content with their quiet life, their household occupations, their unvaried round of social duties and pleasures. Admired she might have been, but it had not harmed her; she had come back to them quite unspoiled, heart-free and fancy-free, Graeme said to herself, with a sense of relief and thankfulness, that grew more a.s.sured as the time went on.

"It amuses me very much to hear Arthur say I am changed," said Rose, one day, when the sisters were sitting together. "Why, if I had come home a strong-minded woman and the president of a convention, it would have been nothing to the change that has taken place in f.a.n.n.y, which I daresay he does not see at all, as a change; he always was rather blind where she was concerned. But what have you being doing to f.a.n.n.y, Graeme?"

"Rose, my dear," said Graeme, gravely, "f.a.n.n.y has had a great deal of sickness and suffering, and her change is for the better, I am sure; and, besides, are you not speaking a little foolishly?"

"Well, perhaps so, but not unkindly, as far as f.a.n.n.y is concerned. For the better! I should think so. But then I fancied that f.a.n.n.y was just the one to grow peevish in sickness, and ill to do with, as Janet would say; and I confess, when I heard of the arrival of young Arthur, I was afraid, remembering old times, and her little airs, that she might not be easier to live with."

"Now, Rosie, that is not quite kind."

"But it is quite true. That is just what I thought first, and what I said to Norman. I know you said how nice she was, and how sweet, and all that, but I thought that was just your way of seeing things; you never would see f.a.n.n.y's faults, you know, even at the very first."

Graeme shook her head.

"I think you must have forgotten about the very first. We were both foolish and faithless, then. It has all come right; Arthur is very happy in his wife, though I never thought it could be in those days."

There was a long pause after that, and then Rose said,--

"You must have had a very anxious time, and a great deal to do, when she was so long ill that first winter. I ought to have been here to help you, and I should have been, if I had known."

"I wished for you often, but I did not have too much to do, or to endure. I am none the worse for it all."

"No," said Rose, and she came over and kissed her sister, and then sat down again. Graeme looked very much pleased, and a little surprised.

Rose took up her work, and said, with a laugh that veiled something,--

"I think you have changed--improved--almost as much as f.a.n.n.y, though there was not so much need."

Graeme laughed, too.

"There was more need for improvement than you know or can imagine. I am glad you see any."

"I am anxious about one thing, however, and so is f.a.n.n.y, I am sure,"

said Rose, as f.a.n.n.y came into the room, with her baby in her arms. "I think I see an intention on your part to become stout. I don't object to a certain roundness, but it may be too decided."

"Graeme too stout! How can you say such things, Rosie?" said f.a.n.n.y, indignantly.

"She is not so slender as when I went away."

"No, but she was too slender then. Arthur thinks she is growing handsomer, and so do I."

"Well, perhaps," said Rose, moving believe to examine Graeme critically; "still I must warn her against future possibilities as to stoutness--and other things."

"It is not the stoutness that displeases her, f.a.n.n.y," said Graeme, laughing; "it is the middle-aged look that is settling down upon me, that she is discontented with."

"f.a.n.n.y," said Rose, "don't contradict her. She says that on purpose to be contradicted. A middle-aged look, is it? I dare say it is!"

"A look of contentment with things as they are," said Graeme. "There is a look of expectation on most _young_ faces, you know, a hopeful look, which too often changes to an anxious look, or look of disappointment, as youth pa.s.ses away. I mean, of course, with single women. I suppose it is that with me; or, do I look as if I were settling down content with things as they are?"

"Graeme," said her sister, "if some people were to speak like that in my hearing, I should say it sounded a little like affectation."

"I hope it is not politeness, alone, which prevents you from saying it to me?"

"But it is all nonsense, Graeme dear," said f.a.n.n.y.

"How old are you, Graeme?" said Rose. "Middle-aged, indeed!"

"Rosie, does not ten years seem a long time, to look forward to? Shall you not begin to think yourself middle-aged ten years hence?"

"Certainly not; by no means; I have no such intention, unless, indeed--.

But we won't speak about such unpleasant things. f.a.n.n.y, shan't I take the baby while you do that?"

"If you would like to take him," said f.a.n.n.y, with some hesitation.

Baby was a subject on which Rose and f.a.n.n.y had not quite come to a mutual understanding. Rose was not so impressed with the wonderful attractions of her son as f.a.n.n.y thought she ought to be. Even Graeme had been surprised at her indifference to the charms of her nephew, and expostulated with her on the subject. But Rose had had a surfeit of baby sweetness, and, after Hilda's strong, beautiful boys, f.a.n.n.y's little, delicate three months' baby was a disappointment to her, and she made no secret of her amus.e.m.e.nt at the devotion of Graeme, and the raptures of his mother over him. But now, as she took him in her arms, she astonished them with such eloquence of baby-talk as baby had never heard before. f.a.n.n.y was delighted. Happily Graeme prevented the question that trembled on her lips as to the comparative merits of her nephews, by saying,--

"Well done, Rosie! If only Harry could hear you!"

"I have often wished that Hilda could see and hear you both over this little mortal. You should see Hilda. Does not she preserve her equanimity? Fancy her walking the room for hours with any of her boys, as you did the other night with this one. Not she, indeed, nor any one else, with her permission."

"I thought--I am sure you have always spoken about Hilda as a model mother," said f.a.n.n.y, doubtfully.

"And a fond mother," said Graeme.

"She _is_ a model mother; she is fond, but she is wise," said Rose, nodding her head. "I say no more."

"f.a.n.n.y dear, we shall have to learn of Rose. We are very inexperienced people, I fear," said Graeme, smiling.