Here Aunt Isabel, slowly rousing, sneezes, and hems audibly, to let her friends know she has not been sleeping.
'Cissy, child,' she says, 'you will be perished over there. Come to the fire and warm yourself.'
'I _am_ warm, thank you, and quite comfortable.'
'My love, I don't believe it' (with extreme mildness); 'it is freezing as hard as it can, and there is always a draught near a window. Come here, when I desire you.'
'And _I_ shall die if you remain over there,' says Aunt Isabel; and carries her point.
'Better I than you, Auntie,' says Miss Mordaunt, and coming over, good-humouredly kneels down beside her kinswoman.
'Cold hands--warm heart,' murmurs the old lady, caressing the soft white fingers that lie upon her lap.
'A troublesome possession,' remarks Mrs Leyton with a lazy smile. 'No one is _really_ happy in this world except he or she who carries an empty bosom.'
'Are _you_ happy?' asks Miss Cissy innocently.
'Almost. The little worn-out article that beats here'--laying her hand over the region of the heart--'has pulsations hardly strong enough to cause me any uneasiness. Now and then I feel a faint pang--not often.'
'I would rather keep my heart, even at the expense of my suffering,' says Cissy warmly. 'She who cannot feel anguish, can know no perfect joy. Without love, life is a mistake, an unutterably stupid gift. That is how _I_ think; but then I am Irish, and therefore of course unreasonable.'
'O no,' says Mrs Leyton graciously. 'The Irish are the most charming people in the world--so light-hearted, so quick to sympathise. Though I have been here only two days, and have asked no questions, I knew you to be Irish before you told me. Most of my friends come from your land; even Captain Halkett is half Irish, his mother being from Galway.'
'Yes?' says Cissy. She rather shrinks from mention of Halkett's name, and remembers with a slight pang how friendly have seemed his relations with Mrs Leyton since her arrival. 'Have you known Captain Halkett long?' she cannot help asking.
'All my life. His father and mine were fast friends; our childhood was spent together. Then we separated'--with a sigh, that sounds ominous to Cissy, but in reality is only born of past sorrow, utterly unconnected with him in any way--'to meet again after many years in India, and now--here. One way or another, all through, Frank's life has been mixed up with mine.'