She slowly shook her head as it lay on the pillow.
"This is one of my bad days.... But I shall pick up.... Then has Hilda taken George to London?"
Edwin nodded.
"Eh, I do hope and pray it'll be all right. I've had such good eyesight myself, I'm all the more afraid for others. What a blessing it's been to me! ... Eh, what a good mother dear Hilda is!" She added after a pause: "I daresay there never was such a mother as Hilda, unless it's Clara."
"Has Clara been in to-day?" Edwin demanded, to change the subject of conversation.
"No, she hasn't. But she will, as soon as she has a moment. She'll be popping in. They're such a tie on her, those children are--and how she looks after them! ... Edwin!" She called him, as though he were receding.
"Yes?"
The frail voice continued, articulating with great carefulness, and achieving each sentence as though it were a miracle, as indeed it was:
"I think no one ever had such nephews and nieces as I have. I've never had children of my own--that was not to be!--but I must say the Lord has made it up to me in my nephews and nieces. You and Hilda ... and Clara and Albert ... and the little chicks!" Tears stood in her eyes.
"You're forgetting Maggie," said Edwin, lightly.