He gathered a spray of oleander that grew near him, and laid it on her hand, like a caress. Eleanor's emaciated fingers closed upon it gently. She looked up, smiling. The Contessa abruptly turned away.
'And besides—' said Manisty.
He puffed away steadily, with his gaze on the mountains.
'I wait,' said the Contessa.
'Your Italy is a witch,' he said, with a sudden lifting of eyes and voice, 'and there are too many people that love her!'
Lucy bent a little lower over her work.
Presently the Contessa went away.
Eleanor lay with eyes closed and hands crossed, very white and still. They thought her asleep, for it was common with her now to fall into short sleeps of pure exhaustion. When they occurred, those near her kept tender and generally silent watch, joining hands of protection, as it were, round her growing feebleness.
After a few minutes, however, Manisty bent across towards Lucy.
'You urged me once to finish the book. But it was she who told me the other day she was thankful it had been dropped.'