Mrs. H. Yes, Lucius, we have all much to reproach ourselves with; even poor grandpapa is heart-broken at having been too much absorbed to perceive how your dear mother was overtasked.
L. You did all you could, aunt; you took home one child, and caused the other to be sent to school.
Mrs. H. Yes, too late to be of any use.
L. And after all, I don’t think it was overwork that broke the poor dear one down, so much as grief at that wretched sister of mine.
Mrs. H. Don’t speak of her in that way, Lucius.
L. How can I help it? I could say worse!
Mrs. H. She is broken-hearted, poor thing.
L. Well she may be.
Mrs. H. Ah, the special point of sorrow to your dear mother was that she blamed herself, for—
L. How could she? How can you say so, aunt?