Clara studied the face of her friend.—What have they left upon her? within her? She saw the face of Fanny glow: it was aquiver and alive, her face, as not for a long time.
“I gave them tea. That was right, was it not? The little girl’s a dear.”
“Yes.”
“When she left, she threw her arms around me and kissed me.”
“You had a good time together?”
“Yes. And you, Dear? Your sister?”
“She is worse. But she won’t die. Not that sort of thing. Just pine away and eat up her husband’s money and nag her children.”
“There’s nothing to do, I suppose?”
“Of course not. You liked Tessie? Not Susan.”
“I did not understand her?”