"To show your kind feeling."

"I'm not sure that I have any."

"Zoe! I am shocked! She is in great pain."

"She has plenty of helpers about her,--Christine, Aunt Dicey, and a servant-maid or two,--who will do all they can to relieve her. If I could do any thing more, I would; but I can't, and should only be in the way. You forget what a mere child you have always considered me, and that I have had no experience in nursing."

"It isn't nursing, I am asking you to give her, but a little kindly sympathy."

A carriage was coming swiftly up the avenue.

"There's the doctor," said Zoe. "You'd better consult with him about his patient; and, if he thinks my presence in her room will hasten her recovery, she shall have all I can give her of it, that we may get her out of the house as soon as possible."

"Zoe! I had no idea you could be so heartless," he said, with much displeasure, as he turned and left the room.

Zoe remained where she was, shedding some tears of mingled anger and grief, then hastily endeavoring to remove their traces; for Arthur would be sure to step into the parlor, to see her before leaving, if it were but for a moment.

She had barely recovered her composure when he came in, having found his patient not in need of a lengthened visit.

His face was bright, his tone cheery and kind, as he bade her good-morning, and asked after her health.

"I'm very well, thank you," she said, giving him her hand. "Is Miss Deane's accident a very bad one?"

"It is a severe sprain," he said: "she will not be able to bear her weight upon that ankle for six weeks." Then seeing Zoe's look of dismay, shrewdly guessing at the cause, he hastened to add, "But she might be sent home in an ambulance a few days hence, without the least injury."

Zoe looked greatly relieved, Edward scarcely less so.

"I can't understand how she came to fall," remarked Arthur reflectively.

"Nor I," said Zoe. "Wouldn't it be well for you to advise her never to set foot on that dangerous veranda again?"

Arthur smiled. "That would be a waste of breath," he said, "while Ion is so delightful a place to visit."

"How are they all at Viamede?" he asked, turning to Edward.

"Quite well at last accounts, thank you," Edward replied, adding, with a slight sigh, "I wish they were here,--my mother at least, if none of the others."

Zoe colored violently. "Cousin Arthur, do you think I am needed in your patient's room?" she asked.

"Only to cheer and amuse her with your pleasant society," he answered.

"She would find neither pleasure nor amus.e.m.e.nt in my society," said Zoe; "and hers is most distasteful to me."

"That's a pity," said Arthur, with a look of concern. "Suppose I lend you Ella for a few days? She, I think, would rather enjoy taking the entertainment of your guest off your hands."

"Oh, thank you!" said Zoe, brightening; "that would be a relief: and, besides, I should enjoy Ella myself, between times, and after Miss Deane goes home."

"Please tell Ella we will both be greatly obliged if she will come,"

Edward said.

"I'll do so," said Arthur, rising to go; "but I have a long drive to take, in another direction, before returning to Roselands. And you must remember," he added with a smile, "that I lend her for only a few days.

Cal and I wouldn't know how to do without her very long."

With that, he took his departure, leaving Edward and Zoe alone together.

"I am sorry, Zoe, that you thought it necessary to let Arthur into the secret of the mutual dislike between Miss Deane and yourself," remarked Edward, in a grave, reproving tone.

Zoe colored angrily. "I don't care who knows it," she retorted, with a little toss of her head. "I did not think it _necessary_ to let Arthur into the secret, as you call it (I don't consider it one), but neither did I see any objection to his knowing about it."

"Then, let me request you to say no more on the subject to any one," he said, with vexation.

"I sha'n't promise," she muttered, half under her breath. But he heard it.

"Very well, then, I forbid it; and you have promised to obey me."

"And you promised that it should always be love and coaxing," she said, in tones trembling with pain and pa.s.sion. "I'll have to tell Ella something about it."

"Then, say only what is quite necessary," he returned, his tones softening.

Then, after a moment's silence, in which Zoe's face was turned from him so that he could not see its expression, "Won't you go now, and ask if Miss Deane is any easier? Surely, as her hostess, you should do so much."

"No, I won't! I'll do all I can to make her comfortable; I'll provide her with society more agreeable to her than mine; I'll see that she has interesting reading-matter, if she wants it; I'll do any thing and every thing I can, except that; but you needn't ask that of me."

"O Zoe! I had thought you would do a harder thing than that at my request," he said reproachfully.

Ignoring his remark, she went on, "I just believe she fell and hurt herself purposely, that she might have an excuse for prolonging her visit, and continuing to torment me."

"Zoe, Zoe, how shockingly uncharitable you are!" he exclaimed. "I could never have believed it of you! We are told, 'Charity thinketh no evil.'

Do try not to judge so harshly."

He left the room; and Zoe indulged in a hearty cry, but hastily dried her eyes, and turned her back toward the door, as she heard his step approaching again.

He just looked in, saying, "Zoe, I am going to drive over to Roselands for Ella: will you go along?"

"No. I've been lectured enough for one day," was her ungracious rejoinder; and he closed the door, and went away.

He was dumb with astonishment and pain. "What has come over her?" he asked himself. "She has always before been so delighted to go any and every where with me. Have I been too ready to reprove her of late? I have thought myself rather forbearing, considering how much ill-temper she has shown. She has had provocation, to be sure; but it is high time she learned to exercise some self-control. Yet perhaps I should have been more sympathizing, more forbearing and affectionate."

He had stepped into his carriage, and was driving down the avenue. He pa.s.sed through the great gates, and turned into the road, still thinking of Zoe, and mentally reviewing their behavior toward each other since the unfortunate day in which Miss Deane had crossed their threshold.

The conclusion he presently arrived at was, that he had not been altogether blameless; that, if his reproofs had been given in more loving fashion, they would have been received in a better spirit; that he had not been faithful to his promise always to try "love and coaxing"

with the impulsive, sensitive child-wife, who, he doubted not, loved him with her whole heart; and, once convinced of that, he determined to say so on his return, and make it up with her.

True, it seemed to him that she ought to make the first advances toward an adjustment of their slight differences (quarrels they could scarcely be called; a slight coldness, a cessation of accustomed manifestations of conjugal affection, a few sharp or impatient words on each side), but he would be too generous to wait for that; he loved her dearly enough to sacrifice his pride to some extent; he could better afford that than the sight of her unhappiness.

In the mean time Zoe was bitterly repenting of the rebuff she had given him. He had hardly closed the door when she started up, and ran to it to call him back, apologize for her curt refusal to go with him, and ask if she might still accept his invitation. But it was too late: he was already beyond hearing.

She could not refrain from another cry, and was very angry with herself for her petulance. She regretted the loss of the drive, too, which would have been a real treat after the week of confinement to the house.