Something told her. I reminded
her it hadn't rained for three weeks, and that everything was as dry
as a bone, but she said that made no difference to grass. There is
always a moisture in grass, and that cushions and all that only
helped to draw it out. Not that it mattered. The end had to come,
and so long as the others were happy--you know her style. Nobody
ever thought of her. She was to be dragged here, dragged there. She
talked about herself as if she were some sacred image. It got upon
my nerves at last, so that I persuaded Janie to let me offer to stop
at home with her. I wasn't too keen about going myself; not by that
time."
"When our desires leave us, says Rochefoucauld," I remarked, "we
pride ourselves upon our virtue in having overcome them."
"Well, it was her fault, anyhow," retorted Robina; "and I didn't make
a virtue of it. I told her I'd just as soon not go, and that I felt
sure the others would be all right without her, so that there was no
need for her to be dragged anywhere. And then she burst into tears."
"She said," I suggested, "that it was hard on her to have children
who could wish to go to a picnic and leave their mother at home; that
it was little enough enjoyment she had in her life, heaven knows;
that if there was one thing she had been looking forward to it was
this day's outing; but still, of course, if everybody would be
happier without her--"
"Something of the sort," admitted Robina; "only there was a lot of
it.
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