"Good-day, dear grandma," said Kitty, crossing the hall as Pompey held
open the door of the drawing-room; "I was detained by reason of the
sewing-bee at the Morrises', and have barely time to see you and ask for
Clarissa."
"How does thee do?" said Grandma Effingham, drawing her little drab
shawl more closely around her shapely shoulders as she laid down her
knitting. "I am pleased to see thee. Clarissa is somewhat stronger
to-day; thee knows she has been more like her old self since Gulian
dispatched the letters asking that one of her sisters be allowed to come
to her. The poor child pines for a home face; it is natural; thee sees
she has been long absent from her people."
"Surely it is almost time to get some reply," said Kitty, as she kissed
the dear old Quakeress, for Kitty was one of Mrs. Effingham's
grandchildren, although her mother had been read out of meeting for
having married one of the "world's people." "I doubt that Clarissa will
shortly begin to worry and grow ill again unless kind Providence sends
some tidings."
"Nay, nay," said grandma gently. "If thee had half Clarissa's patience
it would be thy gain, Kitty.
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