"Not very cheerful—and only that dirty old Irishwoman to do for you!"
"Oh, please don't abuse Mrs. O'Leary. She's my one consolation."
Mrs. Lenoir looked at her with something less than her usual self-confidence. It was in a decidedly doubtful and tentative tone that she put her question: "I couldn't persuade you to come and put up with me—in both senses—for a bit?"
Winnie was surprised and touched; to her despairing mood any kindness was a great kindness.
"That's really good of you," she said, pressing Mrs. Lenoir's hand for a moment. "It's—merciful."
"I'm an old woman now, my dear, and most of my cronies are getting old too. Still, some young folks look in now and then. We aren't at all gay; but you'll be comfortable, and you can have a rest while you look about you." There was a trace of the explanatory, of the reassuring, about Mrs. Lenoir's sketch of her home life.
"What's good enough for you is good enough for me, you know," Winnie remarked, with a smile.
"Oh, I'm not so sure! Oh, I'm not speaking of creature comforts and so on. But you seem to me to expect so much of—of everybody."
Winnie took the hand she had pressed and held it. "And you?" she asked.
"Never mind me. You're young and attractive. Don't go on expecting too much. They take what they can."