She wondered desperately, as she spoke, whether she really believed what she said. Was Cousin Charlie happy now, with some incommunicable bliss? Was he really capable any more, of wishes and hopes concerning those left behind?
Sylvia cried on, softly and drearily, and the hands of the clock crawled slowly round.
Presently Janet came back again and said that the aunt and uncle were downstairs.
"It's so dreadful to have to think of meals and things, just the same," she said.
"Mother is staying upstairs, Lily, but she'd like you to come and see her this afternoon. I think it's a comfort to her to talk."
Cousin Ethel was very brave, and it seemed, as Janet and Sylvia had said, to comfort her to talk.
"He was so good, Lily—that's such a comfort to me. Twenty-five years married, and I never had a cross word from him! I like to think that the children will all be able to remember that. He was such a kind father, too, so devoted to his girls. Do you remember how he used to call them 'kiddie-widdies'?
"After all, Lily dear, one of us had to go first—it's only a very, very few that are allowed to slip away together—and I couldn't have borne to think of him left without me. He's happy now, for ever and ever, and I don't suppose it'll seem more than a flash of time to him, where he is now, before we meet again."
Cousin Ethel cried, too, but it was evident that she found consolation in the thought of an Eternal Life holding the certain promise of ultimate reunion.
Lily went away and promised Janet and Sylvia that she would come again the following day.