From time to time, she took a book from one of the shelves, opened it, glanced at a page that was meaningless, and unconscious of her action, replaced the volume.
The dry monotonous voice of the lawyer, re-echoed in her brain. He was saying words which signified nothing.
“Your income will amount to between four and five thousand a year.”
Out of a mass of detail, it was only this she remembered, and at present it conveyed nothing to her mind.
She was conscious only of a feeling of loving gratitude that her friend had cared for her. Of what that care implied, in those first hours she realized nothing. She could only think of her last words at the station.
“If I get better, it will be for the pleasure of seeing you again.”
Her eyes filled with tears as she remembered them.
Gradually the hours wore on. The servants went to bed, and the house was silent. Mechanically Anne piled fresh logs on the fire, and at last conscious of exhaustion from her ceaseless pacing of the room, she sank into a chair, and held her hands to the blaze.
She was a rich woman now, the lawyer had said so.
What did that mean? With all her strength Anne tried to translate the statement into comprehensible terms.