"It seems to be a particularly difficult snarl," I quavered, then bent my head and worked in silence for a moment. We were so near, we could hear each other breathe.
Suddenly in a low voice, almost a whisper, Mrs. Sewall asked, "Are you happy here?"
"Oh, so happy," I replied.
"Are you better? Are you well?" she pursued.
I dropped my hands in her lap, looked up, and nodded. I could not trust myself to speak. I knelt there in silence for a moment.
Finally I said, "Are you happy? Are you better? Are you well, dear Mrs. Sewall?"
"What does it matter? I am an old woman," she replied, in that disparaging little way of hers.
Our old intimacy shone clear and bright in that stolen moment. We were like two lovers forbidden to each other, whispering there together, when the lights suddenly go out, and they are enfolded in the protecting dark. "You are not too old to have created great happiness!" I exclaimed softly.
She shrugged and smiled.
It was a rare moment. I did not mean to spoil it. I ought to have been content. My eagerness was at fault.