The girl looked like a ghost. It was a ghost Susan thought of this time, and not a flower. The pure little face was white and drawn, the features were sharpened, the harebell-coloured eyes had almost a look of wildness; it was as if they had been looking at something frightening for a long time, until they could not lose the habit of expressing fear.
“Susan,” she said, in a strange, uncertain voice, “you didn’t expect to see me.”
Susan ran to her.
“No, no,” she said, “I didn’t know you was here. I thought you was in Boston. What’s the matter? Oh, Lawsy, Margery, what’s happened to make you look like this?”
“Nobody knows,” answered Margery. “They say it’s the cold. They are frightened about me. I’m come to say good-bye to you, Susan.”
She sank into a chair and sat there, panting a little.
“Lucien’s going to take me to Europe,” she said, her voice all at once seeming to sound monotonous, as if she was reciting a lesson mechanically. “I always wanted to go there—to visit the picture galleries and study. They think the climate will be good for me. I’ve been coughing in the mornings—and I can’t eat.”
“Do they think you might be going into—a consumption?” Susan faltered.
“Mother’s frightened,” said Margery. “She and the doctor don’t know what to think. Lucien’s going to take me to Europe. It’s expensive, but—but he has managed to get the money. He sold a little farm he owned.”
“He’s a good brother,” said Susan.