You would have noticed that her tread was very soft, as
if she still were moving in the room above.
'How's Jane?' Alice began by asking. She could not quite look the
other in the face, and did not know how to begin her disclosure.
'No better,' Emma gave answer, shaking her head. Her voice, too, was
suppressed; it was weeks since she had spoken otherwise.
'I am so sorry, Emma. Are you in a hurry to go up again?'
'No. Kate will sit there a little.'
'You look very poorly yourself. It must be very trying for you.'
'I don't feel it,' Emma said, with a pale smile. 'She gives no
trouble. It's only her weakness now; the pain has almost gone.'
'But then she must be getting better.'
Emma shook her head, looking aside. As Alice kept silence, she
continued:
'I was glad to hear you'd gone to see Richard. He wouldn't--I was
afraid he mightn't have time to get here for Christmas.'
There was a question in the words, a timorously expectant question.
Emma had learnt the sad lesson of hope deferred, always to meet
discouragement halfway. It is thus one seeks to propitiate the evil
powers, to turn the edge of their blows by meekness.
'No, he couldn't come,' said Alice.
She had a muff on her left hand, and was turning it round and round
with the other. Emma had not asked her to sit down, merely because
of the inward agitation which absorbed her.
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