"Is such your idea?" said I, smiling.
"Yes."
"Well, I have other and more heartfelt sorrows than these."
"How often have I wished that I were a man—a strong one, to fight with the world in all its wiles and strength; to wrestle and grapple with it, and to feel that I was powerful, great—greater than even destiny—instead of being the poor and feeble thing I am! Then could I show mankind——"
What she was about to say I know not. Her eyes were sparkling, and her cheek flushing, as she spoke; but a violent fit of coughing came on. She put her handkerchief to her lips, and when she took it away it was stained with blood.
"Permit me," said I, with kindness, and handed her to a chair.
This access of coughing so promptly brought Mrs. Goldsworthy in that I think she must have been listening outside the door. Her caresses and care soothed the young lady, though she lapsed into a flood of nervous tears, and, for a minute or so, withdrew.
"Your mistress seems extremely delicate?" I observed.
"Yes, poor thing! She will never again be the girl she was."
"Are you, may I ask, her mother?"