“Charlie speaks of her as the strong-minded sister,” said Marjory. “He has mentioned her two or three times. Their father is a Civil servant in Calcutta, and she keeps his house. They have no mother. She takes care of everything, I have always heard. Charlie laughs at her, but I think he likes her. She does everything. Perhaps that is why the other sister is so helpless--I mean; Mr. Fanshawe, you hear everything as if you were one of the family. I have never seen Charlie’s wife; most likely my idea of her is wrong. You will forget it; you will not think of it again.” “I hope I shall be worthy of your confidence,” said Fanshawe. “I think I almost am. It seems to me that I must be another man since I knew you. I have never thought much of anything; but now if thinking would do any good--” “I don’t believe it does,” said Marjory, with a smile. It was very faint and momentary, but yet it was a smile. “The less one thinks and the more one can do, that is the best.” “But you do not approve of simple want of thought,” he said, cunningly drawing her into those superficial metaphysics which take such a large place in serious flirtations. He was not consciously thinking of flirtation, but he thought he had a right to take advantage of his opportunities. Marjory, however, divined without perceiving, the trap. “Had my father left the dining-room, Mr. Fanshawe? He looked better to-night. I see you are surprised at old Fleming’s freedom, and how he talks. He is an old servant; he has seen us all come into the world. We could not speak to him as to an ordinary servant. Ah! here is Uncle Charles at last!” This exclamation was not agreeable to her present companion. He repeated the “At last!” to himself with a sense of failure which was very irritating. Surely he was as good as Uncle Charles, at least. CHAPTER XV. Some days passed on in a noiseless calm of suspense; suspense which dwelt chiefly in Marjory’s mind, and did not hang heavily upon anyone else. Mr. Charles, with the placidity of his age and character, settled the question beforehand with sanguine confidence. “Depend upon it, my dear, we’ll have him home all right and well,” he said; “quite well. There is nothing like a sea-voyage for fever; it’s self-evident. That little woman, that sister-in-law, will take good care of him. What an energetic bit creature it must be! Why do I say bit creature? She may be as tall as you are? No, no, that’s impossible. It was a small creature that wrote that letter; a little woman, probably no so young as she once was, but a kind of capable being, that will make him do as she pleases. You may be sure she has a will of her own. She will guide him like a boy at school, which will be the best thing for him. Depend upon it, my dear, she’ll bring him to us safe and sound.”