“They think they are useful, poor fellows! They are my pet charity.”
“Oh,” said I blankly. I was not sure whether she was joking or not.
“Come on, Janice. Don't worry your head over my extravagances. Your duty is just to be a nice, cheerful, young companion for me. It's a help to me to see that fiery gold head of yours moving about this musty old house. Don't wear your hat. It's not cold, and I love to see the sun on your hair.”
I tried to suppress my little shiver, but couldn't. She interpreted it very naturally, however. “Oh, it is n't a bit cold, not a bit.”
So we went out into the mild, soft day, and I went without my hat for the sake of letting her see the sun on my hair. As we walked down the ill-weeded drive on which the labors of the two men had made little or no impression, I wondered if narrow, green eyes under a mass of just such hair were watching us from some secret post of observation. I thought that I could feel them boring into my back. I could not restrain a backward look. The old house stood quietly, its long windows blank except for an upper one, out of which Sara was shaking a pillow. I wondered why she should be working in the nursery, but I did n't like to draw Mrs. Brane's attention to the fact.
To my surprise Mrs. Brane was a very energetic walker. She stepped along briskly on her tiny feet, and a faint color came into her poor, wistful face.
“I should be a different person, Janice,” she sighed, “if I could get away from this place and live in some more bracing climate, or some more cheerful country. How lovely Paris would be!”
She laughed her hollow, little laugh.
“My husband lived in Paris for a long time. Before that he was in Russia. He knew a great deal of Russian, even dialects. He was a great traveler. I met him at Aix-les-Bains. He was taking the baths, and so was I. We were both invalids, and I suppose it was a sort of bond. But invalids should not be allowed to marry. Of course, we had no serious disease; it was rheumatism with him, and nervous prostration with me. I wonder if there is n't such a thing as a nerve-germ, Janice.”
“I wondered,” absently. I was busy with my own thoughts, and she was a great chatterer.