The occupant of the four-poster, supported by pillows, and embellished by the head-dress and the famous Indian shawl, looked, in the opinion of her visitor, quite her old self. The eyes glittered as fiercely and as shrewdly as of yore; the curve of the nose was just as grim and hawklike as ever; while as for the resolute jaw and the thin-lipped, tightly drawn mouth, enough hard sarcasm and unflinching force of character lurked about it to quell the vast majority of human kind.
Cheriton was a fop and fribble, as all the world knew. Nevertheless, he belonged to that honorable company that is not abashed easily. He greeted the formidable occupant of the four-poster with a robustness of demeanor that served him well. Had he batted so much as an eyelid, or betrayed the least disposition to flinch, he would have received very short shrift this morning. For whatever might be Sir Wotherspoon Ogle’s opinion in regard to that complex mechanism that was buttoned into the linen band of the old lady’s nightgown, there can be no doubt that, considered as a whole, the aged frame had gained alarmingly in bodily vigor by a week’s detention within the precincts of the four-poster.
“How are you, Caroline?” said Cheriton, with musical expansiveness.
“Worth a good many dead ones at present,” said the old lady, with no more music than a raven.
“So I perceive,” said her visitor, with a little sigh.
Upon the counterpane lay “Law’s Serious Call.” Cheriton took it up and ran his fingers thoughtfully through the leaves. On the flyleaf in extremely large and decidedly juvenile characters was the inscription, “To dearest Aunt Caroline, with Fondest Love from her Affectionate Niece, Araminta.”
“Caroline,” said her visitor, “you are an extremely fortunate woman to have a niece who takes such a practical interest in your spiritual well-being, particularly at a time when the state of your health tends to make the future increasingly speculative.”
The occupant of the four-poster poised her chin in a manner that can only be described as the incarnation of truculence. The fierce eyes flashed from under their bushy canopy with all the ruthlessness of their prime. She said nothing, however. Her silence rendered her the more formidable.
“In my humble judgment,” said Cheriton, choosing his words delicately, “your affectionate niece has a charmingly frank, and at the same time a deeply spiritual nature.”
“Humph!” said Miss Perry’s aunt. “The creature has as much spirituality as that bedpost.”