tentive without rigidity, full of pretty curves and quick
movements, she looked as if the habit of watching and serving had
taken complete possession of her, and was literally a little sister of
charity. Her thick black hair was pushed behind her ears, as if to help
her to listen, and her clear brown eyes had the smile of a person
too full of tact to cany a dull face to a sickbed. She spoke in an
encouraging voice, and had soothing and unselfish habits. She was very
pretty,--producing a cheerful effect of contrasted black and white, and
dressed herself daintily, so that Mildred might have something agreeable
to look at Benyon very soon perceived that there was a fund of good
service in her. Her sister had it all now; but poor Miss Theory was
fading fast, and then what would become of this precious little force?
The answer to such a question that seemed most to the point was
that it was none of his business. He was not sick,--at least not
physically,--and he was not looking out for a nurse. Such a companion
might be a luxury, but was not, as yet, a necessity: The welcome of the
two ladies, at first, had been simple, and he scarcely knew what to call
it but sweet; a bright, gentle friendliness remained the tone of their
greeting. They evidently liked him to come,--they liked to see his big
transatlantic ship hover about those gleaming coasts of exile. The fact
of Miss Mildred being always stretched on her couch--in his successive
visits to foreign waters Benyon had not unlearned (as why should he?)
the pleasant American habit of using the lady's personal name--made
their intimacy seem greater, their differences less; it was as if his
hostesses had taken him into their confidence and he had been--as the
consul would have said--of the same party. Knocking about the salt parts
of the globe, with a few feet square on a rolling frigate for his only
home, the pretty, flower-decked sitting-room of the quiet American
sisters became, more than anything he had hitherto known, his interior.
He had dreamed once of having an interior, but the dream had vanished in
lurid smoke, and no such vision had come to him again. He had a feeling
that the end of this was drawing nigh; he was sure that the advent of
the strange brother, whose wife was certain to be disagreeable, would
make a difference. That is why, as I have said, he came as often as
possible the last week, after he had learned the day on which Percival
Theory would arrive. The lim