"What is the use of asking me, Mrs. Penn? I cannot tell why they don't."
"Do you never hear Mr. Chandos say why?"
"Never. At the beginning of her illness, he said his mother knew how to treat herself, and that she had a dislike to doctors."
"There's more in it than that, I think," returned Mrs. Penn, in a tone of significance. "That surly Hill wont answer a single question. All I get out of her is, 'My lady's no better.' Mrs. Chandos goes into the west wing most days, but she is as close as Hill. The fact is—it is very unfortunate, but Mrs. Chandos appears to have taken a dislike to me."
"Taken a dislike to you!"
Mrs. Penn nodded. "And not a word upon any subject, save the merest conversational trifles, will she speak. But I have my own opinion of Lady Chandos's illness: if I am right, their reticence is accounted for."
Again the tone was so significant that I could but note it, and looked to her for an explanation. She dropped her voice as she gave it.
"I think that the malady which has attacked Lady Chandos is not bodily, but mental; and that they, in consequence, keep her in seclusion. Poor woman! She has had enough trouble to drive her mad."
"Oh, Mrs. Penn! Mad!"
"I mean what I say."