Virginia was unable to imagine it and said so—with some difficulty, her lips tremulous.
“I asked her.” Mr. Bernstein leaned back in his chair and shook his head sadly. “I told her what I wanted an’ what I’d pay, an’ she said, ‘Nothing doin’!’ Now, what d’you know about that?”
He was about to say more, to enlarge on his grievance and on Mrs. Quantah’s resemblance to Miss Squeers, but there was a sharp sound. A door opened and shut, and the ideal Miss Squeers entered. She did not look at Mr. Bernstein, but turned a stony gaze upon Virginia’s flushed and smiling face.
“She’ll see you,” she said laconically.
Mr. Bernstein leaned farther back in his chair with the air of a martyr determined to await his turn, if it took all night. Virginia rose hastily and followed Mrs. Quantah.
A moment before she had had to laugh at Bernstein; now her heart sank. She felt that Fanchon had never liked her, and now—wasn’t this an intrusion? Her courage suddenly wavered, and her knees felt weak under her when the gaunt woman opened a door at the end of the hall and almost thrust her into the room beyond.
XXVII
The room was small and dim, although the shutters were open, as Lucas had remarked. There was a frayed and scanty look to everything, but a big four-poster stood in the corner. Lying across that, looking as small and helpless as a child, was Fanchon. She was half dressed, and she lay with her head on her arm, her soft dark hair tumbled about her shoulders and framing her white profile.
Virginia, who had stopped just inside the door, stood waiting, hesitating, uncertain what to do. Fanchon did not move, and she looked so white and limp as she lay there that Virginia thought she had fainted. She went quickly across the room and stood beside the bed, looking down at the motionless figure.
Fanchon’s eyes were closed, and the long, thick lashes made shadows on her white cheeks. There was no sign of makeup now except a touch of the lips that made her mouth look scarlet, in fearful contrast to the whiteness of cheeks and brow and throat. One arm was thrown across the bed and the small hand clasped the crumpled coverlet convulsively, the blue veins showing through its delicate whiteness. Half-clad as she was, Virginia saw how thin were Fanchon’s arms and how slender her neck, delicate and round as the stem of a flower. How changed she was!