May was still dressed in mourning, very plainly, and she wore no furs. She came into the room and looked round her.
"May!" exclaimed Lady Dashwood.
"I thought you were ill, Aunt Lena!" said May amazed at the sight of Lady Dashwood, dressed for dinner and apparently in robust health.
"I am ill," exclaimed Lady Dashwood, and she tapped her forehead. "I'm ill here," and she advanced to meet her niece with open arms.
"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Dashwood, hastening up to her aunt.
"I'm still partially sane, May—but—if you hadn't come!" said Lady Dashwood, kissing her niece on both cheeks. She did not finish her sentence.
Mrs. Dashwood put both hands on her aunt's shoulders and examined her face carefully.
"Yes, I see you're quite sane, Aunt Lena."
"Will you minister to a mind—not actually diseased but oppressed by a consuming worry?" asked Lady Dashwood earnestly. "Don't think I'm a humbug—I need you much more, just now, than if I'd been merely ill—with a bilious attack, say. You've saved my life! I wish I could explain—but it is difficult to explain—sometimes."
"I'm glad I've saved your life," said May, and she smiled her peculiar smile.