'Oh! Gilbert!' cried his anxious sister, starting up. 'Are you come
to see me?' and she would have wheeled round her father's arm-chair
for him, but Genevieve was beforehand with her, and he sank into it,
saying pathetically, 'Ah! thank you, Miss Durant; you are come to a
perfect hospital. Oh! this is too much,' as she further gave him a
footstool. 'Oh! no, thank you, Sophy,' for she would have handed
Genevieve her own pillow for his further support; 'this is
delightful!' reclining pathetically in his chair. 'This is not like
Traversham.'
'Where they would not believe he was ill!' said Sophy.
'I hope he does not look so very ill,' said Genevieve, cheerfully,
but this rather hurt the feelings of both; the one said, 'Oh! but he
is terribly pale,' the other coughed, and said, 'Looks are
deceitful.'
'That is the very reason,' said Genevieve. 'You don't look deceitful
enough to be so ill--so ill as Miss Sophie fears; now you are at
home, and well cared for, you will soon be well.'
'Care would have prevented it all,' said Sophy.
'And not brought me home!' said Gilbert. 'Home is home on any terms.
No one there had the least idea a fellow could ever be unwell or out
of spirits!'
'Ah! you must have been ill,' cried his sister, 'you who never used
to be miserable!'
Gilbert gave a sigh. 'They were such mere boys,' he said.
'Monsieur votre Precepteur?' asked Genevieve.
'Ah! he was otherwise occupied!'
'There is some mystery beneath,' said Genevieve, turning to Sophy,
who exclaimed abruptly, 'Oh! is he in love?'
'Sophy goes to the point,' said Gilbert, smiling, the picture of
languid comfort; 'but I own there are suspicious circumstances.
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