"We were very sorry to hear of his sickness."
"Thank you, Miss Lee; I was sure you would be."
The old lady's fingers worked nervously; I knew, in spite of her pride, what was in her heart. She longed to take Jessie in her arms, to beseech her to speak the one word that would bring her boy back to life and happiness.
"He suffers less with his head, I suppose?" I said, breaking the little pause which would soon have proved awkward.
"It is quite easy this morning; indeed, last night he slept for several hours undisturbed. He is so patient," she continued, "so gentle; but that is natural to him."
I knew she was glad to have that opportunity of praising Bosworth; she felt as if it was indirectly doing something to interest Jessie in his favor.
"It was very kind of you to come, Miss Lee," she said. "I thought you would be willing to humor a sick man's fancies, and he pined so to see all his old friends," she added, quickly, with her old-world tact, for the color began to flicker on Jessie's cheek.
"My father would have come also," said the girl, talking rapidly, "but he was obliged to go out very early; and you know my mother seldom leaves her room."
"It is sad that she should be so great an invalid," said the old duchess—I must call her so. "My daughter and I go out very little. We have often wished to see more of you, but age and infirmity are by force unsocial."
"Mrs. Lee is fond of company," I said. I longed to do all I could to draw the two families together.