“It’s very dark. High time the curtain went up. The house will be getting impatient in a minute. It’s not to be supposed they’ll wait all night. Certainly not.”
Sylvia drew the curtains back, and the room was flooded with gold.
“That’s better. Much better. The country smells beautiful, don’t it, this morning? The glory die-johns are a treat this year, but the captain he always likes a camellia or a gardenia. Well, if they start in building over your nursery, pa.... Certainly not, certainly not. They’ll build over everything. Now don’t talk about dying, Bob. Don’t let’s be dismal on our anniversary. Certainly not.”
She suddenly recognized Sylvia and her mind cleared.
“Oh, I am glad you’ve come. Really, you know, I hate to make a fuss, but I’m not feeling at all meself. I’m just a tiddley-bit ill, it’s my belief. Sylvia, give me your hand. Sylvia, I’m joking. I really am remarkably ill. Oh, there’s no doubt I’m going to die. What a beautiful evening! Yes, it’s not to be supposed I’m going to live forever, and there, after all, I’m not sorry. As soon as I began to get that stiffness I thought it meant I was not meself. And what’s the good of hanging about if you’re not yourself?”
The nurse came forward and begged her not to talk too much.
“You can’t stop me talking. There was a clergyman came through Mrs. Ewings’s getting in a state about me, and he talked till I was sick and tired of the sound of his voice. Talked away, he did, about the death of Our Lord and being nailed to the cross. It made me very dismal. ‘Here, when did all this occur?’ I asked. ‘Nineteen hundred and ten years ago,’ he said. ‘Oh well,’ I said, ‘it all occurred such a long time ago and it’s all so sad, let’s hope it never occurred at all.’”
The nurse said firmly that if Mrs. Gainsborough would not stop talking she should have to make Sylvia go out of the room.
“There’s a tyrant,” said Mrs. Gainsborough. “Well, just sit by me quietly and hold my hand.”
The sun set behind the housetops. Mrs. Gainsborough’s hand was cold when twilight came.