Since I am quite
satisfied concerning my wife, I conclude my sister may be. We will
consider the subject closed. Make friends, you two. Christian, will you
not?"
Christian rose. She had never kissed Miss Gascoigne in her life, had
had no encouragement to do it, and it would have seemed a piece of
actual hypocrisy. Now it was not. The kiss of affection it could hardly
be, but there is such a thing as the kiss of peace.
She rose and went, white and tottering as she was, across the room to
where Miss Gascoigne sat, hard, bitter, and silent, determined that not a
step should be taken on her side--she would not be the first to "make
friends."
"Forgive me, Aunt Henrietta, if I ever offended you. I did not mean it.
Let us try to get on better for the future. We ought, for we are both so
fond of the children and of Arnold."
Such simple words, such a natural feeling! if that hard heart were only
natural and soft enough to take it in. And it was--for once.
Miss Gascoigne looked incredulously up, then down again, in a
shamefaced, uncomfortable way, then held out her hand, and kissed
Christian, while two tears--only two--gathered and dropped from her
eyes.
But the worst was over. The ice was broken and the stream ran clear.
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