Eleonora's elder sister, Mrs. Fanshaw, had come home from India with
her husband, newly made a Major-General. Frank had gone to Rockpier
early in January, to be introduced to them, and after spending a day
or two there, to escort Lena to Compton. Mrs. Poynsett needed but
one glance to assure her that the two were happier than their wooing
had ever made them before, save in that one brief moment at Cecil's
party. Eleonora looked more beautiful, and the look of wistful pain
had left her brow, but it had made permanent lines there, as well
had seemed likely, and though her laugh would never have the abandon
of Rosamond's, still it was not so very rare, and though she was
still like a beautiful night, it was a bright moonlight one.
A few private interviews made the cause of the change apparent. The
sister, Mary Fanshaw, had something of Camilla's dexterity, but
having been early married to a good man, she had found its use
instead of its abuse; and though Lena's trust had come very slowly,
she had given it at last, and saw that her elders could deal with
her father as she could never do.
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