“My father is out—” she began.
[p 197]
“I know. But I came to see you. May I stay a little?”
She murmured assent, and sinking listlessly into a chair, began to play with some roses in a vase on the table beside her.
“You look tired Lady Sibyl,”—I said gently—“Are you not well?”
“I am quite well—” she answered—“But you are right in saying I am tired. I am dreadfully tired!”
“You have been doing too much perhaps?—your attendance on your mother tries you——”
She laughed bitterly.
“Attendance on my mother!—pray do not credit me with so much devotion. I never attend on my mother. I cannot do it; I am too much of a coward. Her face terrifies me; and whenever I do venture to go near her, she tries to speak, with such dreadful, such ghastly efforts, as make her more hideous to look at than anyone can imagine. I should die of fright if I saw her often. As it is, when I do see her I can scarcely stand—and twice I have fainted with the horror of it. To think of it!—that that living corpse with the fearful fixed eyes and distorted mouth should actually be my mother!”
She shuddered violently, and her very lips paled as she spoke. I was seriously concerned, and told her so.
“This must be very bad for your health,”—I said, drawing my chair closer to hers—“Can you not get away for a change?”