Esther good humouredly reached for a table-mat, for the polish of this particular article of furniture was the pride of Aunt Amy's life. "It's all right, Auntie. It's not really a mark. Look, aren't they sweet? It is like one of father's posies. Is mother any better?"
"The children must think a lot of you, Esther!"
"Yes, although I think they would bring flowers to any one, bless 'em!
Is mother—"
"Your mother hasn't been down all day. I went up with her dinner but she didn't take any. She wouldn't answer."
"Auntie, don't you think she ought to do something about these headaches?"
"I don't know, Esther. She'll be all right to-morrow. She always is."
"Yes. But they are getting more frequent, and you know—she is so different. She can't be well. Haven't you noticed it?"
"No," vaguely.
"Well, Jane has. So it can't just be imagination. She ought to consult a doctor."
"She won't."