She had no idea how long the woman had been gazing at her, nor how she had entered the room, for she had heard neither the opening nor the shutting of a door, nor the thumping of the cane across the floor.
She held in her left hand to-day a delicate vase of fretted silver, in which there was a single stalk of hyacinths, with a few sprays of feathery heath.
“Better to-day?” she questioned, briefly.
Brownie smiled a little, as she answered in the affirmative. She saw that the keen gray eyes had a softer, kinder gleam in them than they had yesterday.
“Do you like flowers?” asked the strange old lady, holding out a rose to her.
Brownie sat up, her lovely face flushing all over with delight, and put her hand out to receive it.
“You are very kind. They seem like a ray of sunshine after a cold and dismal storm,” she said, bending over them to inhale their fragrancy.
“Humph! it takes mighty little to make some people chipper,” the old woman returned bluntly; yet there was a note of satisfaction in her shrill voice, as if Brownie’s appreciation pleased her.
Then she asked:
“Are you getting stronger? Are you able to walk about the room?”