“But—no,” he said, “no, no—the fault has been mine; surely I could have worked harder and made life easier for you.”
She shook her head and leaned against him in silence for a little space.
She spoke calmly, quietly.
“When I am dead, I should like you to marry Mrs. Conway,” she said.
“Oh, hush, hush, hush!” he cried; “Ellie, I cannot stand much more.”
“I am not trying to hurt you now,” she said. “Don’t think I am just saying this as a martyr might. I could go quite peacefully if I felt my poor old Rob was going to taste happiness, after all these wretched years. I feel as if I had been like the dresses I wear that Clif hates—a nondescript, colourless thing. And Life itself is such a dull, grey affair at best, I ought to have tried to be a bright colour.”
Through the window came the voices of the little boys, all their soberness dispersed by the sun’s merry magic.
[171]
]“I’m off to get locusts,” shouted Richie. The clatter of his strong little boots sounded along the wooden verandah.
Lighter footfalls followed—“Me, me too, Richie,” cried Alfie’s voice.
And toddling steps came along eagerly, stumblingly. “Me dit gwirlies, me dit gwirlies, Wichie.”