"My dear sir, these trifling attacks are becoming less and less frequent. My daughter and myself will leave you and Sir John together. I trust these attacks are not to be often repeated; but we shall meet at luncheon, I hope, quite recovered." The mother and daughter quitted the sitting-room; but, as they passed through the door, held open by Sir John Spottiswoode, he took Christobelle's hand, and kindly hoped she would not be too ill to enjoy a breeze upon the terrace. "Oh! yes, this evening I shall truly enjoy the pure air," she replied, withdrawing her hand as they passed on. "If there is any thing most displeasing to me," observed Lady Wetheral, as they entered her dressing-room, "it is comprised in that familiar action of shaking hands upon every occasion. I beg you will avoid it in future." "It was merely to express a kind wish, _en passant_," Christobelle remarked, "that Sir John Spottiswoode just touched my hand." "Familiarity which begins _en passant_, ends in contempt _pour toujours_, Miss Wetheral." "Would you wish to lie down, mamma, or shall I ring for Mrs. Bevan?" asked her daughter, willing to change the subject. "Neither, Miss Wetheral. I wish simply to remain here, and, if you please, you shall read to me." Christobelle continued reading to her mother, who sat reclining in a lounging-chair, till a tap at the door announced Mrs. Bevan in waiting. Her ladyship touched a little silver hand-bell by her side, to indicate to Mrs. Bevan that she might enter. She brought a summons from her master, to beg the ladies would make their appearance. "Tell Frederick, Mrs. Bevan, to inform your master we will descend when the luncheon is announced: I am very nervous and unwell." "My lady, I believe my Lord Farnborough is in the drawing-room." "Oh! very well, Mrs. Bevan, we are coming immediately." Mrs. Bevan vanished. "My dear love, just draw out your beautiful curls; and if you could pass a narrow blue ribbon negligently through your hair, it would give great effect to its jetty abundance. A little more animation in your manner, Bell, and a little less paleness, is to be desired. Yes, that blush has had great effect--now let us proceed, ere it vanishes." They entered the drawing-room, and Christobelle's eyes first sought Sir John Spottiswoode. He was standing at the window, but he turned towards the ladies, as the little bustle of their entrance reached his ear, and advanced with alacrity. Lady Wetheral held out her hand. "I am much better, my dear Sir John--your countenance asks the question. I have had repose--perfect repose--and I am better. My daughter is my medicine." Her ladyship still held Christobelle's arm, and moved gracefully forward. "My lord, you are the bearer of Miss Ponsonby's wishes. My poor memory had parted with the recollection of your message yesterday, before my daughter's return."