“I cannot bear them, Robina; that is, if they are exciting. Since you came, I don’t know how it is, but I have felt as though the whole house was in a flutter. This state of things is exceedingly bad for me, and my palpitations are much worse in consequence.”
“That is because you don’t know,” said Robina. She leaned out of the window. There was a struggle in her heart. If there was one thing more than another that she pined and longed for, it was to take possession of that poor, weak, suffering, nervous mother of hers, and give her some of her own strength, some of her own life. It was one of Robina’s hidden, unspoken griefs that her mother never understood her, and that she turned away from her child to Aunt Felicia for sympathy. Now Robina thought and wondered.
“Mummy,” she said, “I am going to speak in a very low voice, and you need not get a bit excited. But you see I am very happy.”
“Ah, yes;” said Mrs Starling, still speaking almost in a whisper. “I understand, and I am not envious. Happiness is very far from me, but I am glad my children enjoy it—my children and my husband.”
“But we want you to have it too.”
“It is the will of Providence that I should lie here very weak and suffering. I must submit without a murmur,” said the invalid.
“Mummy, let me talk to you. I know you sent me away to school—”
“I cannot go into those things now, Robina. I did not manage it; it was your aunt.”
“If Aunt Felicia were not here, you would depend on me; you know you would, mummy.”
“If your aunt were not here, I should die—if I had not her to comfort me.”