Poor child, it was five years before we saw her
again!
We had scarcely had time to settle in at Killy Marey before Lady
Diana implored us to meet her in London, without explaining what was
the matter. When we came to Lord Erymanth's house, we were met by
Viola, very thin, but with a bright red colour on her usually pale
cheeks, and a strange gleaming light in her eyes, making them larger
than ever; and oh, how she did talk! Chatter, chatter, about all
they had seen or done, and all the absurdities of the people they had
met; mimicking them and making fun, and all the time her mother
became paler and graver, looking as if she had grown ten years older.
It went on so all dinner-time. She talked instead of eating, and all
the evening those bright eyes of hers seemed to be keeping jealous
watch that no one should exchange any words in private.
Nor could we till poor Lady Diana, with a fagged miserable face, came
to my room at night, and I called Dermot in. And then she told us
how the child had "seemed to bear everything most beautifully," and
had never given way. I believe it was from that grain of perversity
in Viola's high-spirited nature, as well as the having grown up
without confidence towards her mother, which forbade her to mourn
visibly among unsympathising watchers; and when her hope was gone led
her in her dull despair to do as they pleased, try to distract her
thoughts, let herself be hunted hither and thither, and laugh at and
play with Pigou St.
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