The door closed, leaving Elma to snoodle down on her pillows, with a sigh of relief, while Cornelia lifted her skirt in both hands and danced a pas seul, bowing low towards the doorway, blowing kisses from her finger-tips the while, after the manner of riders in a circus.
She pranced and pirouetted, while Elma protested in shocked surprise. It struck her that Cornelia’s anxiety as to her own condition had died a remarkably sudden death with the disappearance of Mrs Greville from the room. A pantomimic display was not the best way to ensure quiet and repose, nor was there much sympathy to be read in the expression of the twinkling golden eyes. Elma found herself blushing before their gaze, and guiltily drooping her lashes.
“Cornelia, what do you mean?”
“Columns, my dear, which sweet little buds like you ought to know nothing about! You lie still, and look pretty, and ask no questions; that’s your part in the play! You’ve got to remember that you’ve had a shock, and your nervous system’s all to pieces. You don’t have no pain, nor suffering, and anyone to look at you might think you were quite robust; but just as soon as you make the least exertion, you’re all of a flop, and have to be waited on hand and foot!—That’s so, isn’t it now!”
Elma’s delicate brows were furrowed in her attempt to make out what Cornelia did mean, and what she didn’t! There was a note in her voice which did not ring true—a good-naturedly mocking note, which accorded ill with the words themselves. She blushed still deeper, and put on an air of wounded dignity.
“I certainly am very far from well. My head feels so light and swimming. I should be very sorry to have to walk far at present. Coming upstairs just now tried me horribly.”
Cornelia clapped her hands in approval.
“Capital! capital! Keep it at that, and you can’t do better. Go slow, and don’t try to mend all of a sudden. Even when you do begin to buck up, in a day or two’s time, the very sight of a horse will set you palpitating for all you’re worth. You’ll kind-er feel as if you’d rather crawl home on all fours than sit behind the steadiest old nag that was ever raised. It’s three or four miles from home, isn’t it, or maybe more—much too far for an invalid to attempt, for a week at least. Just a little saunter in the grounds will be all you’re fit for this side Sunday, with someone to support you carefully as you go! ... You’ll be apt to turn giddy if you go about alone. ... Have you gotten that nicely off by heart now, so you won’t go forgetting at the wrong moments?”
“Why should I forget? Surely my own feelings will be my best guide?”
“Yes, ’um!” said Cornelia, demurely. She let her lids droop over her tell-tale eyes, and stood beside the couch for a long, eloquent moment, during which the flickering colour deepened on Elma’s cheek; then turned aside, took down a book from a shelf, and settled herself comfortably on a wicker chair.