"I can do nothing with her—she's turned to stone," she said.
"Oh, she'll come alive again," he responded. "Where is she?"
"In Gramercy Park. It makes no difference to her now where she is, nor whether she sees Mrs. Payne or not. She even sits for hours and listens to Uncle Percival play upon his flute."
"It will be the death of her," he answered gravely. "Is there nothing we can do?"
"Nothing. I've done everything—she's really stone."
"Well, we'll bring her round," said Adams cheerfully; but when he saw Laura herself in the afternoon, he instinctively turned his eyes away from the frozen sweetness in her look. He was aware that she made an effort to be pleasant, but her pleasantness reminded him of an artificial light on a figure of snow.
"I had hoped you would grow stronger in the South," he said, though all conversation seemed to him to have become suddenly the most impersonal thing on earth.
"But I am strong," she answered, "I am never ill a day."
"There's something about you, all the same, that I don't like," he responded frankly.
"I know," she nodded, smiling, "you aren't used to seeing a dead person walk about. But it's very comfortable when you grow accustomed to it," she added, with a laugh.