In a measure they were there still, but coupled with pathetic signs of some disintegrating and poisonous influence. The face which once, in its pallid austerity, had not been without beauty, had now coarsened, even in emaciation. The features stood out disproportionately; the hair had receded from the temples; something ugly and feverish had been, as it were, laid bare. And composure had been long undermined. The nurse who had just left had been glad to go.
Gertrude received Delia's remark with impatience.
"Do please let my looks alone! As if you could boast!" The speaker's smile softened as she looked at the girl's still bandaged arm, and pale cheeks. "That in fact is what I wanted to say, Delia. You ought to be going home. You want the country and the garden. And I, it seems—so this tiresome Doctor says—ought to have a fortnight's sea."
"Oh—" said Delia, with a sudden flush. "So you think we ought to give up the flat? Why can't I come with you to the sea?"
"I thought you had begun to do various things—cripples—and cottages—and schools—for Mr. Winnington," said Gertrude, drily.
"I wanted to—but Weston's illness stopped it—and then I came here."
"Well, you 'wanted to.' And why shouldn't you?"
There was a silence. Then Delia looked up—very pale now—her head thrown back.
"So you mean you wish to get rid of me, Gertrude!"
"Nothing of the sort. I want you to do—what you clearly wish to do."