“They don’t quite know what’s wrong with you, dearie,” he said, “and they’ve got to see. You won’t feel nothing; they’ll give you a whiff of chloroform, and you’ll go off as easy as getting to sleep of a night. And when you wake, they hope that there’ll be good news for you, my dear, and that, as I say, you’ll soon be about again, scolding and vexing us and making our lives a burden, as you’ve always done, God bless you. There, Maria, I can manage my joke still, and I’m mistaken if I don’t see you smiling at me, same as ever.”
She had smiled, but she grew grave again.
“I want to know it all, Eddie, my dear,” she said. “There’s nothing you can tell me as I shall fear more than what I guess. Do they think it’s the cancer?”
“No, they don’t say that,” he said. “But they’ve got to see what it is. They’re not going to think anything yet, until they see.”
“Thank you, dearie, for telling me so gentle,” she said. “I declare it’s a relief to me to have it spoken. And when is it to be?”
“They said something about to-morrow. But that’s as you please, Maria. But, my dear, there’s no use in putting it off; better have done with it.”
“No; I wish as it could have been to-day. But what a lot of trouble the inside is, as I said to Dora on Saturday. Eddie, my dear, I’m such a coward. You’ve all got to be brave for me; it’s a lot of worry I’m giving. But it’s not my fault as far as I know; I’ve lived clean and wholesome. It’s a thing as is sent to one. Lor’, my dear, you’re crying. Now let’s have no sadness in this house; it would be shame on us if we couldn’t take our bit of trouble like men and women, instead of like a pig as squeals before you touch it. But what an upset! There’s you, my dear, wishing it was you, and there’s me, being so glad it’s not you. We shan’t agree about that, Mr. O. And now, my dear, if you’ll say a bit of a prayer, same as we’ve always said together every morning, you and I, before going down to our breakfast, and then let’s have Dora and Claude in, and have a bit of a chat. ‘Our Father,’ my dear. We don’t want more than that; it’s what we’ve always said together of a morning, and it hasn’t taken us far wrong yet.”
There was silence a little after that was said, and then Lord Osborne got up.
“And if I haven’t forgot to kiss you ‘Good morning,’ my dear,” he said. “Well, that’s that. And shall I fetch Dora and Claude? And what about Mrs. Per? Per’s out, I know. He left early this morning from Grote and had business in the City, which he said would keep him to lunch. Maria, my dear, my vote’s against Mrs. Per.”
“Wouldn’t she feel left out?” asked his wife.