Soon she might
not only think but say. How terrible that would be. If that were the
form her breaking-out was going to take, the form of unseemly speech,
Mrs. Fisher was afraid she would hardly with any degree of composure be
able to bear it.
At this stage Mrs. Fisher wished more than ever that she were
able to talk over her strange feelings with some one who would
understand. There was, however, no one who would understand except
Mrs. Wilkins herself. She would. She would know at once, Mrs. Fisher
was sure, what she felt like. But this was impossible. It would be as
abject as begging the very microbe that was infecting one for
protection against its disease.
She continued, accordingly, to bear her sensations in silence,
and was driven by them into that frequent aimless appearing in the top
garden which presently roused even Scrap's attention.
Scrap had noticed it, and vaguely wondered at it, for some time
before Mr. Wilkins inquired of her one morning as he arranged her
cushions for her--he had established the daily assisting of Lady
Caroline into her chair as his special privilege--whether there was
anything the matter with Mrs. Fisher.
At that moment Mrs. Fisher was standing by the eastern parapet,
shading her eyes and carefully scrutinizing the distant white houses of
Mezzago.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252