"Willingly," said Aldyth; and they turned to the more secluded part of the cemetery and sat down in the shade of some old elms.
Miss Lorraine, who did enjoy "talking it over," had walked on with acquaintances.
"So Hilda has not come?" said Aldyth.
"No," said Kitty, drily. "She says she cannot bear to go to a funeral, she is so sensitive, the impression remains with her for days."
"I did not wish to come," said Aldyth, "but aunt said she thought it would seem kind to Mr. Greenwood, though I am quite sure he could not notice who were here. I do not want to associate dear Mrs. Greenwood with the grave. She was so bright and good; she seemed all spirit, and I try to think of her as having entered upon a freer and more blessed state of existence."
"Yes, that is the right way to think of her," said Kitty. "I will tell you what Mr. Glynne said the other day; I thought it was so nice of him. He overtook me as I was coming up the street, and we walked a few steps together. We met little Dottie Greenwood and her nurse, and the child—you know how fond she is of him—ran up to him and said, with such a sorrowful look on her sweet little face,—
"'Dear Aunt Mary is so ill that she is dead.'
"'But she is not ill now,' he said as he kissed her; 'Aunt Mary is quite well now.'
"And Dottie, smiled and repeated, 'Yes, Aunt Mary is quite well now.'
"It touched me so, somehow; and yet he only said what we all profess to believe. Mr. Glynne is very good, don't you think?"