"She walks a great deal nowadays," remarked my uncle, and Sarah assented
with--"Yes, a great deal," having, I fancied, more significance in her
manner than in her words.
"There has been hardly a pleasant afternoon in a month that she has not
been abroad with her book," continued Sir Richard.
"Her book," murmured Sarah, who was a laconic young person, much given to
observing conditions about her and equally prone to keep her conclusions
to herself.
"She refuses all company," remarked my uncle, who did not seem to catch
the sceptical inflection in his younger daughter's voice, "and I
sometimes fear she wishes to be alone because she is brooding over our
misfortunes."
"Brooding!" murmured Sarah, with slightly lifted eyebrows.
"Even when she is at home she sits all day long at the window and sighs,"
said Sir Richard, dolefully.
"Sighs," concurred laconic Sarah.
There are so many symptoms which, in a young woman, may seem to indicate
the disease of love that one making a hasty diagnosis is likely to fall
upon that malady, it being prevalent in spring, both of the year and of
life. I had believed that my cousin's healthful vanity and quiet strength
of character would, in a measure, keep her safe from this troublesome
spring disorder, but my uncle's account of her doings led me to fear that
perhaps her wholesome armor of self-conceit was not so invulnerable as
I had hoped.
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