“Alvina, are you mad!” said her father.
“Wonder I’m not,” said Alvina, “considering what my life is.”
CHAPTER VIII
CICCIO
Madame did not pick up her spirits, after her cold. For two days she lay in bed, attended by Mrs. Rollings and Alvina and the young men. But she was most careful never to give any room for scandal. The young men might not approach her save in the presence of some third party. And then it was strictly a visit of ceremony or business.
“Oh, your Woodhouse, how glad I shall be when I have left it,” she said to Alvina. “I feel it is unlucky for me.”
“Do you?” said Alvina. “But if you’d had this bad cold in some places, you might have been much worse, don’t you think.”
“Oh my dear!” cried Madame. “Do you think I could confuse you in my dislike of this Woodhouse? Oh no! You are not Woodhouse. On the contrary, I think it is unkind for you also, this place. You look—also—what shall I say—thin, not very happy.”
It was a note of interrogation.
“I’m sure I dislike Woodhouse much more than you can,” replied Alvina.
“I am sure. Yes! I am sure. I see it. Why don’t you go away? Why don’t you marry?”