"Miss," she repeated, "I can't kip it to myself no longer; that there Mrs. Robinson was right—I wasn't never married an' I never 'ad no children."
Mrs. Cushion's hands were picking nervously at the sheet, though her eyes never left my face for a single minute. I seized one of the weak, cold hands, and held it in both mine—but I could not speak.
"You'd better sit down, miss, while I tell 'ee.... All my life long I've loved children—more especially boys. When I was a young 'ooman, I 'ad my chanst same as most. One was a school-teacher, most respectable 'e were—but I couldn't seem to fancy 'im: and t'other, 'e were a hundertaker, and I couldn't fancy 'is trade—so there it was. An' as time went on I did get thinkin' about the little boys as I should like to 'ave 'ad; and they did seem to get realler and realler—Arty and Bert did—till I sorter felt I couldn't get along without 'em.... Do it seem very queer to you, miss?"
"Not a bit, dear Mrs. Cushion."
"Now, I ast you, miss—do I look like a hold maid, or do I look like a comfortable married woman with a family?"
"I think you look very married," I exclaimed quite truthfully—"very motherly."
"Well, so do I think—and when I came 'ere where no one knowed anything about me excepting I was Uncle's niece, I says to myself, says I, 'You act up to your looks, Caroline Cushion—an' then you can talk about your children same as the rest.' I didn't trouble my 'ead about a 'usban'—I 'adn't never thought about 'im. So when folks asked me—like you yourself, miss—I just prims up my mouth and shakes my 'ead, and they sees as 'e weren't up to much, and they says no more. Sometimes I've thought as it were a bit onfair on 'im, pore chap, an' 'im never done me no 'arm—but—there.... I couldn't stop to think about 'im. 'Twere the boys as I wanted—an' they did comfort me so, miss, an' I don't know 'ow as I can ever give 'em up."
"But I see no reason why you should."
"Ah, miss, you speaks so kind because you do think, 'She's ill, poor thing, and we must yumour 'er,' but what'd the Reverend say? You may depend as that there Mrs. Robinson 'll never let it alone. What'll 'e say? An' if 'e says as I've got to tell every one I ain't no married woman an' never 'ad no children, I'd rather not get well. I couldn't face it, miss. Because I can't feel as the Lard's very angry with me—I can't."
"Mrs. Cushion, will you let me tell Mr. Molyneux, and see what he says?"