"I never see her," replied Agnes. "We quarrelled long ago, and we do not speak when we meet. You were quite right in your estimation of those people, Letty. It was an evil day for us when we first saw them."
"So I rather supposed; but we will let that go with the rest, Agnes. There is no use in recalling old grievances. I wish I could see you looking better. I am sure you must be suffering. Do you have that cough all the time?"
"Whenever I am tired, or take a little cold. But good-by! I have stayed too long here."
[CHAPTER XV.]
AGNES.
IT was with a sad heart that Letty returned to her home.
The more she thought of the story she had heard, the more probable it appeared. But the change in Agnes herself was what weighed most painfully upon her; and the more she reflected, the more she was struck with the alteration. It hardly seemed possible that the pale, emaciated phantom she had seen could be the blooming creature she once knew. Then Agnes had always been so hasty, so eager, so excitable upon the smallest occasions. Now she seemed, as she herself had said, almost without feeling: whether she talked of her child's tragical death, her altered position in society, or the change in her husband, all was spoken in the same dull, even tone and with the same look of utter apathy. It almost seemed to her that the real Agnes who used to live in Number Ten was dead, and that this was some strange spirit which had assumed her form.
When John came home to dinner, Letty told him the story of her meeting with her cousin.
John looked a good deal disturbed.
"I suppose it cannot be helped," said he; "but I almost wish you had not encountered her. People tell terrible stories about them. No one visits them but the most dissipated set in town; and the establishment in Gay Street is becoming infamous. I am very sorry for Agnes, however."