“And when Lady Wentworth comes, Ellen,” she said, “you must let me know at once. This is not the moment to remember angry or hurt feelings.”
Ellen replied to this quietly and decisively.
“Lady Wentworth will not come, my dear,” she said. “She cares just as much whether her brother lives or dies as the greatest stranger might care. Sir Mark’s wife, Miss Grace, will only come to your house when she can do or say something to make you uncomfortable, and that’s just the plain truth.”
Grace flushed at this.
“I hope you are wrong, Ellen,” she said. “I should not care to think so badly of Lady Wentworth, or any other person.”
“I hope I am wrong, but I know I am right,” Ellen said, with obstinacy; then her voice changed as she talked of Polly.
“What a difference. Is it possible they can be sisters, Miss Grace? Poor little creature, it makes my heart ache to see her face. She looks very ill herself. I don’t think she is fit to sit in that close room, but there’s no way of moving her. Is Mr. Valentine going to bring the mother with him, Miss Grace?”
Grace shook her head.
“No; Mrs. Pennington is too much of an invalid. Valentine is going to break the news to her as gently as he can. Miss Polly has entreated him to prevent her mother coming.”
“I don’t see how he can stop her,” Ellen said, thoughtfully. “She may be delicate, but it’s only fair and right she should come and look on her boy before he goes. If I know anything of a mother’s nature, I warrant you Mrs. Pennington will come back with Mr. Valentine to-night. I had better prepare Mr. Sacha’s room for her in case I am right, had I not?”