“Don’t you think that the good news I bring might save her life?”
“No; and I am not sure that it would be good to save her life, she has suffered so cruelly. What a wicked old man Sir William Rammage was!” she burst out, and looked up sympathetically at Mr. Boughton.
“He was my client,” the lawyer urged.
“He allowed the poor old lady to starve for want of money, and now that he is dead and she is dying it comes to her.”
“Yes, it is very unfortunate—very unfortunate.”
“Everything seems to be a point of view,” Mrs. North went on, in the eager manner which so often characterized her. “Poverty is the point of view from which we look at the riches we cannot get; from vice we look at virtue which we cannot attain; from hell we look at the heaven we cannot reach. Perhaps Sir William Rammage would appreciate the latter part of the remark now”—she said the last words between laughter and tears.
“My dear madam,” Mr. Boughton exclaimed, in rather a shocked voice, “pray don’t let us begin a discussion. To go back to Mrs. Baines, I think if I could see her——”
“It is quite impossible; you would remind her of your horrible nephew, and that would kill her.”
“What on earth has she got to do with my nephew?”—and this time his manner convinced Mrs. North that he was not an impostor.
“Mr. Boughton,” she said gravely, “the old lady is very, very ill. The doctor says she cannot live, and I fear that the sight of you would kill her straight off; but, if you like, I will go and sound her, and find out if she is strong enough to bear a visit from you”—and, the lawyer having agreed to this, Mrs. North went upstairs.