I took off the cap, and put on the hat, and then the jacket; but the jacket did not fit me—it was too tight, and it would not button.
‘Here is a warm shawl,’ said Mrs. Lee.
‘Does not Miss C—— remind you of Edith?’ exclaimed the daughter.
Mrs. Lee looked hard at me, and, opening the door, passed out.
‘You will come and see me again soon?’ said Miss Lee.
‘I will come,’ I answered, ‘as often as you care to send for me.’
When we had walked a few paces down the saloon towards the aftermost stairs Mrs. Lee stopped, and, putting her hand on my arm, exclaimed, ‘Oh, my poor child!’ I imagined for the moment that the exclamation referred to me. She continued: ‘She is the only one that is left to me now. My heart breaks when I look at her. I try to be composed, and talk lightly on indifferent matters, but the effort is often more than I can bear. Do you think she looks very ill?’
‘She looks ill,’ I answered, ‘but not very ill.’
‘I ought to have taken her a voyage some time ago—they tell me so, at least. I have wintered at Madeira with her, and we spent last winter in the south of France. But they say that a voyage is worth all those resorts and refuges put together. Is she not sweet? She suffers so patiently, too.’
I longed to say something soothing, to utter some hope, but my mind gave me no ideas. Mrs. Lee looked at me whilst I stood at her side with my head hung, fruitlessly striving with my mind that I might say something to console her. ‘I am keeping you standing,’ cried she, and without further words we went on deck.