V.
One member of the house remained to be sent to sleep. Mrs. Major put a soft knuckle to the door; came at the call; whispered “I thought I might disturb you.”
“You never disturb me, Mrs. Major.”
A little squeak sprung from the nutter in the masterly woman's heart.
“You sigh, Mrs. Major?”
“Oh, Mr. Marrapit, I can't bear to see you lying there. The”—she paused against an effort, then took the aspirate in a masterly rush—“the house is not the same without you.”
“Your sympathy is very consoling to me, Mrs. Major.”
“Oh, Mr. Marrapit!” She plunged a shaft that should try him: “I wish I had the right to give you more.”
“Your position in this house gives you free access to me, Mrs. Major. Regard your place as one of my own circle. Do not let deference stifle intercourse.”
The masterly woman hove a superb sigh. “If you knew how I feel your kindness, Mr. Marrapit. Truly, as I say to myself every night, fair is my lot and goodly is my—” Icy dismay took her. Was the missing word “hermitage” or “heritage”? With masterly decision she filled the blank with a telling choke; keyed her voice to a brilliant suggestion of brightness struggling with tears: “The sweetling cats are safely sleeping. I have come straight from them. Ah, how they miss you! How well they know you suffer!”
“They do?” A tremble of pleasure was in Mr. Marrapit's voice.
“They does—do.” Mrs. Major recited their day, gave their menu. “I must not tarry,” she concluded; “you need rest. Good night, Mr. Marrapit. Good night.”
“Good night, Mrs. Major.”
Mr. Marrapit put out his candle.