awaiting and encouraging it according to the rational conclusion which she had expressed to her uncle.
When she came down to breakfast (after every one had left the table except Mrs Davilow) there were letters on her plate. One of them she read with a gathering smile, and then handed it to her mamma, who, on returning it, smiled also, finding new cheerfulness in the good spirits her daughter had shown ever since waking, and said—
"You don't feel inclined to go a thousand miles away?"
"Not exactly so far."
"It was a sad omission not to have written again before this. Can't you write now—before we set out this morning?"
"It is not so pressing. To-morrow will do. You see they leave town to-day. I must write to Dover. They will be there till Monday."
"Shall I write for you, dear—if it teases you?"
Gwendolen did not speak immediately, but after sipping her coffee answered brusquely, "Oh no, let it be; I will write to–morrow." Then feeling a touch of compunction, she looked up and said with playful tenderness, "Dear, old, beautiful mamma!"
"Old, child, truly."
