“Very probably it is. He is certainly changed,” said Vanna briefly.
The next day the Gloucesters took their departure, and left behind a sense of loss and blank. Miggles struggled under a weight of depression at the thought that this might be the last time that she would ever behold her beloved child and pupil; the maid covered up the furniture of the guest-room with dull regret; Vanna was racked by an access of bitterness and jealousy. All the dearly won composure of the past eight months seemed swept aside. She was back again in the slough of despond which had followed the memorable visit to the doctor. Every sight, every sound, every word that was uttered seemed to press against her nerves with unbearable jar; she felt a sense of enmity against Miggles, the village, the whole human race; above all, against Jean and her husband. She shut herself within the walls of a cold and sullen reserve, never speaking unless spoken to, answering with the curtest of monosyllables. For three long days she hardened herself against the pleading of Miggles’s eyes and the tenderness in the feeble voice, but on the afternoon of the third day she brought her footstool to the side of the sofa, and laid her head against the old woman’s knee.
“Comfort me, Miggles! My heart is so sore. I’m sad, and I’m bad, and I’ve made you miserable, and now I come to you for help. I’m so tired. Say something to help me along!”
“What is it, dearie? Grieving after Jean, and feeling lonely to be left without your friend? It was such a short visit. So good of them to spare the time, but from our point of view it was rather aggravating. You want her back again, as I do, and grieve that she’s so far away.”
“No, I don’t! I don’t want to see her. I’m glad she’s in town. I hope she won’t come again. The contrast is too great. I can’t stand it. She has everything, and I have nothing. It’s not fair. She doesn’t deserve it any more than I do. Why should she be beautiful, and strong, and happy, and adored, while I am lonely, and sad, and tainted by disease? I can’t bear it. I wish she had never come.”
Miggles’s face showed a network of lines of distress and bewilderment.
“But—but I don’t understand! You love Jean; she is your best friend. You are not sorry that she is happy? You don’t grudge her her good fortune? That wouldn’t be possible. You are far too sweet.”
Vanna gave a short, despairing laugh.
“No, I’m not sweet. I’m bitter, bitter to the core; and you might as well know the truth—at this minute I do grudge her happiness. I grudge it so much that my very love seems changed to gall. You are an angel, Miggles, but you are old, and your life is over. I’m young, and it’s all ahead. It’s the most difficult lesson of all to stand aside and look at happiness through the eyes of others. It’s easy enough to weep with those that weep. If we are whole ourselves we are thankful that we have escaped; if we are under the ban, there’s a companionship in suffering. We understand each other, and help each other along; but to rejoice with those who rejoice demands a nobility of which at the moment I am simply incapable. This world is unfair and unjust. Things are too horribly uneven.”
“Dear child, this world is not all. It’s only the beginning, and so soon over.”