Mrs. Sundon would not permit Caro, unless it were absolutely unavoidable, to interfere with a single study or pursuit, though the mother cared for the child incessantly, and spared no thought or pains upon her, from consecrating to Miss Caro’s wardrobe Mrs. Sundon’s most exquisite needlework, to being the child’s first teacher in health, and nurse in sickness. Mrs. Sundon would not allow Caro’s presence in the morning-room—the company-room of the house, except at stated and limited intervals. Mrs. Sundon put an interdict on Caro and her nurse being a drag on walking and riding excursions. Mrs. Sundon did not carry Caro to any public place whatever, but did not on that account withdraw from public places. Mrs. Sundon had an old-fashioned notion that society and her friends had a claim upon her, just as Caro had a claim, and though Caro’s claim, as her mother delighted to acknowledge, was the greater, Mrs. Sundon did not conceive that it ought on that account to swallow up the smaller. Mrs. Sundon sent Caro to bed betimes, and would not suffer this, or other excellent rules to be infringed on any pretence. The desirable result was twofold, Caro from her earliest infancy was one of the healthiest, most natural, and “prettily behaved” of children. Mrs. Sundon had the reward of being assured that the child was regarded by all the friends of the family as a boon to be welcomed, and not as a bore or plague to be endured. So summer suns and winter moons rose and set on the house at Summerhill, and the two friends were “Bell” and “Sunny,” like sisters to each other. “Oh, Bell, this peaceful, rational, God-fearing time is good after the distractions of passion and the storms of life,” Mrs. Sundon would say, stifling all yearning in her voice, and setting her strong will to make the best of the alleviations of her lot. “Yes, Sunny,” Lady Bell would answer brightly. “I get a better gardener every month. Our place will be a spectacle next year, only the French honeysuckle don’t smell like our common honeysuckle, exactly as lupins are not sweet as blossoming beans. I am improving in my drawing. I propose to try painting when the weather will allow. Mayne in Lumley is to come out and give me open-air lessons. I shall paint our Caro nursing her foot in its red shoe under an apple-tree—you shall see what you shall see. But now I must tie on my hood, and run down the lane to Goody Amos’s, with the plaster for her burn. Don’t forget that there is a puppet-show in the town-hall, which we promised to attend this afternoon, before drinking a dish of tea, and staying for a bit of supper with Captain Craddock and his wife.” Very busy was Lady Bell—the true secret of happiness. Yet, walking home that same evening, escorted by the gallant Captain and the Summerhill man with a lantern, Lady Bell fell behind Mrs. Sundon and her cavalier, and began dreaming under the stars.