“Ha!” exclaimed Lady Griselda loudly. Her eyes flashed with a flicker of the old fire. “And a fine old fool I’ve been making of myself, no doubt! Senile decay! I hoped at least I should be spared that. I can’t remember.—It is like a mist. Have I been ill?”
“Weak, darling, and tired. You’ve been up most days. A month ago you had a drive. Only two days ago you were taken worse.”
“And now,” said the old woman calmly, “I’m dying. Pretty soon too, I should say, for there’s not much feeling left. Don’t let them poke me about, Grizel. Keep them away! It’s a poor thing if one can’t die in peace.” She was silent, munching her sunken jaws. Then the keen glance wandered to the girl’s face, and softened.
“Have I been rough with you, child? Bullied you? More than usual, I mean. If I have, I didn’t know it... Has it been a hard time?”
Grizel smiled again.
“You varied, dear. Rather fierce at times, and again quite meek, and sometimes, terribly funny! You’d laugh, Buddy, if you could hear some of the things you said!”
“Ha!” A wraith of a smile passed over the grey face. “Glad to hear it. I’d be interested, but there’s not time... Where’s that fool of a nurse? Keep her away; I want no one but you. Well, child, shall you grieve for me when I’m gone?”
“No, Buddy, dear. I’ll grieve for myself, but for you, I shall be glad it’s over,—the pain, and the crippledom, and the dulness, and the waiting. I love you too much to want that to go on. It will be better...”
“Well! Well!” Lady Griselda sighed. “We’ll see! Better than I deserve—I’m sure of that. I can’t even say I’ve done my best. I haven’t but God knows, at the bottom of my heart I wanted to! I was born sour, just as you, child, were born sweet. Seems unfair. I don’t understand... Lots of things we don’t understand... That will be interesting—to find out!”
She munched in silence for several minutes, her gaze lingering wistfully on Grizel’s face, upturned in the dim light.