The hope of appearing
like a new being to her relatives was another innocent motive for her
long-prolonged effort. Circumstances had never developed epistolary
tastes in the sisters, and they were content with brief missives
containing general assurances that all was well. Mrs. Muir was one of
those ladies who become engrossed with the actual and the present. Had
Madge been in her old room she would have been looked after with daily
solicitude; being absent, she was loved none the less, but was simply
crowded from thought and memory by swarms of little cares. She was
doing well, and her sister was satisfied. "'It's a wonderful climate,'
Madge writes," she would say, "so even and dry. Madge doesn't take
cold as she did here, and can go out nearly every day. Perhaps we
ought to become reconciled to the fact that she will have to live
there always, since here, with our sudden changes, she could scarcely
live at all."
With the kindliest intentions Graydon had sought to initiate a
vigorous correspondence. He had learned with immense relief of Madge's
improvement through change of residence, and he felt that a series of
jolly letters might bring aid and hopefulness. Her responses were not
very encouraging, however, and business cares, with the novelty
of foreign life, gradually absorbed his thoughts and time until
correspondence languished and died.
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