All the while the old lady had been talking, her face had been losing its expression of cynicism, and by the time she had finished it was glowing with the enthusiasm of a girl. It was as if she had beheld reincarnate in little Letizia her own youth and as if now with the wisdom of eighty-three years she were redirecting her own future from the beginning. Presently, after a short silence, she told Nancy to search in the bottom drawer of a painted cabinet for a parcel wrapped up in brown paper, and bring it to her. With this she fumbled for a while with her left hand and at last held up a tunic made apparently of thick sackcloth and some fragments of stuff that looked like a handful of cobwebs.
“The silk has faded and perished,” she murmured. “This was once a pair of blue silk tights. I wore them when I made my descent down that long rope from the firework platform. It was a very successful descent, but my life has perished like this costume—all that part of it which was not fireproof like this asbestos tunic: Take this miserable heap of material and never let your daughter make such a descent, however brightly you might plan the fireworks should burn, however loudly you might hope that the mob would applaud the daring of her performance, however rich and splendid you might think the costume chosen for her. Yes, this wretched bundle of what seemed once such finery represents my life. Wrap it up again and take it out of my sight for ever, but do you, girl, gaze at it sometimes and remember what the old woman who once wore it told you a few weeks before she died.”
There was a tap at the door, and the elderly parlourmaid came in to say that the fly for which Mr. Fuller had telephoned was waiting at the door.
“Do you mean to say that Mr. Fuller hasn’t ordered the brougham to take Mrs. Fuller to the station?” the old lady demanded angrily.
“I think that the horse was tired, ma’am,” said the elderly maid, retreating as quickly as she could.
“I wish I had my legs. I wish I had both arms,” the old lady exclaimed, snatching at the small handbell that stood on the table at the left of the bed, and ringing it impatiently.
Miss Young brought Letizia back.
“Emily, will you drive down with my visitors to the station? I shan’t need anything for the next hour.”
It was useless for Nancy to protest that she did not want to give all this trouble. The old lady insisted. And really Nancy was very grateful for Miss Young’s company, because it would have been dreary on this cold March night to fade out of Brigham with such a humiliating lack of importance.
“Good-bye, little Letizia,” said her great-grandmother.