During the month of Oliver's second election,
moreover, she had been very conscious of Sir James's hostility to her
son. Intercourse between him and Tallyn had practically ceased.
Since the accident, however, he had been kind--very kind.
The door opened, and Sir James was announced. She greeted him with a
tremulous and fluttering warmth that for a moment embarrassed her
visitor, accustomed to the old excess of manner and dignity, wherewith
she kept her little world in awe. He saw, too, that the havoc wrought by
age and grief had gone forward rapidly since he had seen her last.
"I am afraid there is no better news of Oliver?" he said, gravely, as he
sat down beside her.
She shook her head.
"We are in despair, Nothing touches the pain but morphia. And he has
lost heart himself so much during the last fortnight."
"You have had any fresh opinion?"
"Yes. The last man told me he still believed the injury was curable, but
that Oliver must do a great deal for himself. And that he seems
incapable of doing. It is, of course, the shock to the nerves, and--the
general--disappointment--"
Her voice shook. She stared into the fire.
Pages:
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682