"Have you been here all the summer?"
"Yes--since June."
"Through the election?"
"Yes." Diana turned her face away. Lady Niton could see the extreme
delicacy to which the profile had fined down, the bluish or purple
shadows here and there on the white skin. Something glittered in the old
woman's eyes. She put out a hand from the queer flounced mantle, made
out of an ancient evening dress, in which she was arrayed, and
touched Diana's.
"You know--you've heard--about those poor things at Tallyn?"
Diana made a quick movement. Her eyes were on the speaker.
"How is Mr. Marsham?"
Lady Niton shook her head. She opened a hand-bag on her wrist, took out
a letter, and put on her eye-glasses.
"This is Lucy--arrived this morning. It don't sound well. 'Come when you
can, my dear Elizabeth--you will be very welcome. But I do not know how
I have the courage to ask you. We are a depressing pair, Oliver and I.
Oliver has been in almost constant pain this last week. If it goes on we
must try morphia. But before that we shall see another doctor. I dread
to think of morphia. Once begin it, and what will be the end? I sit here
alone a great deal--thinking.
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