e wished without
difficulty.

And for some days and even weeks things went on pretty well. I used to
get cross now and then when grandmamma could not be with me as much as I
wanted, but so far, there was no _person_ to come between her and me, it
was only her having so much to do; and whenever we were together she was
so sweet and understanding in every way, that it made up for the lonely
hours I sometimes had to spend.

But in myself I am afraid there was not really any improvement, it was
only on the surface. There was still the selfishness underneath, the
readiness to take offence and be jealous of anything that seemed to put
me out of my place as first with grandmamma. All the unhappy feelings
were there, smouldering, ready to burst out into fire the moment
anything stirred them up.

Christmas came and went. It was very unlike any of the Christmases I had
ever known, and of course it could not but seem rather lonely.
Grandmamma still had some old friends in London, but she had not tried
to see them, as she had been so busy, and not knowing as yet when Cousin
Agnes would be returning. It seemed a sort of waiting time altogether.
Now and then grandmamma would allude cheerfully to Cousin Cosmo and his
wife coming home, hoping that it would be soon, as every letter brought
better accounts of Mrs. Vandeleur's health. I certainly did not share in
these hopes, I would rather have gone on living for ever as we were if
only I could have had grandmamma to myself.

I think it was about the 8th of January that there came one morning a
letter which made grandmamma look very grave, and when she had finished
reading it she sat for a moment or two without speaking. Then she said,
as if thinking aloud--

'Dear me, this is very disappointing.'

'Is anything the matter?' I asked. 'Can't you tell me what it is,
grandmamma?'

'Oh yes, dear,' she said, 'it is only what I have been looking forward
to so much--but it has come in such a different way. Your cousins are
returning almost immediately, but only, I am sorry to say, because poor
Agnes is so ill that the London doctor says she must be near him. They
are bringing her up in an invalid carriage the first mild day, so I must
have everything ready for them. It will probably be many weeks before
she can leave her room,' and poor grandmamma sighed.

This news was far from welcome to me, but I am afraid what I cared for
had only to do with myself. I didn't feel very sorry for poo