“Don’t you ever go through the farce, dear, of thinking you haven’t been good to me,” she said to a friend years after this; and, although throughout life she often spoke hastily and over-sharply, she never spoke a word that might poison the night-watches for those she left behind. Coventry Patmore’s terrible poem[[145]] could never have been inspired by her.
To one of her nieces she writes:
“Sept. 2nd, 1881.
Dear ——,
I found the enclosed treasured among Grandmamma’s most valued papers, and I am sure you will like to have it back and to see how she kept and cared for it through so many years....
I think all your life it will be a pleasure to you remember how much you added to her happiness and helped to take care of her during the last few years. She always said you were ‘a little mother’ to her.
Your affec. aunt,
S. J.-B.”
CHAPTER III
PATIENTS AND FRIENDS
It was hard to go back to the house in Manor Place, so full of associations, and, as soon as might be, S. J.-B. and Miss Du Pre removed to Bruntsfield Lodge, a roomy, rambling old house[[146]] with a shady, high-walled garden, standing high on the south side of Edinburgh, overlooking Bruntsfield Links. The sunny rooms and the possibility of stepping out into quiet greenness were worth a fortune to the strained nerves and over-active brain.