By this time the whole company was convulsed with laughter, which Miss May did not seem to appreciate; for she froze up immediately, cast a withering look of scorn at the callously inappreciative company, and spoke not another word for at least two minutes, at the end of which time her tongue was languishing for exercise.
“And how did you leave Lady Elizabeth?” inquired Mrs. Garth, during this momentary break in the conversation.
“I do not like her present condition at all,” was my reply. “She has fretted a good deal ever—ever since the earl died.”
It cost me much to utter these words quietly, for the mere thought of my poor old lover’s mysterious death always moved me to sudden anger.
“But surely she is not fretting herself ill?” said Mr. Garth, in some surprise. “We know that she was much attached to her father; but, after all, he was really old, and she has many compensating blessings, if I am not mistaken.”
“You are not mistaken,” was my answer. “But Lady Elizabeth’s grief is not selfish or unreasonable, though it may be incomprehensible to all but herself and me.”
“Then you think you understand fully why she is allowing it to prey on her health?”
“God help me, yes!” I cried passionately. “Why do you torture me like this? Cannot you understand that the whole subject is too bitter for me to talk of more than can be helped?”
“Poor child!” exclaimed Mrs. Garth penitently. “Of course it is. I ought to have known.”
“No, no, I am the one to blame. How can you possibly know all that occupies my mind? Forgive my hasty words, they were foolish and unwarrantable.”