Her father's skilful treatment had laid the foundations for the cure
which the years had completed, until to-day her husband was as strong a
man as she could hope to see. Year after year, her life had grown better
and brighter; yet she loved to linger now and then over the good old
days. She pressed her cheek into the cushion, and her lids drooped to
keep the modern actual scene from destroying the old-time imaginary one.
"Tired, Cousin Ted?" Cicely had dropped down on the couch beside her.
"Not a bit."
"Worried?"
"No, indeed."
"I was afraid something was wrong, you were so quiet." The girl bent over
and fell to touching Theodora's hair with light fingers. Suddenly she
stooped and snuggled her face against Theodora's cheek. "Oh, I do love to
cuddle you," she said impulsively. "I hope you don't mind. Papa used to
let me; I wonder if he doesn't miss it sometimes."
Putting out her arm, Theodora drew the girl down at her side.
"Are you homesick, Cicely?"
"For papa, not for anything else. If he were here, or even well, I should
be perfectly happy here. Only, Cousin Theodora--"
"Well?"
"Are we very much in the way, Billy and I? We don't belong here, I know;
and it isn't our doing that we came. Are you sorry that we are here?"
"No. I am glad to have you with us, Cicely."
Theodora spoke the truth.
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