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All at once her mother seemed to forget what she was saying, and sat still, staring into the fire. Several times she shivered. Her hands lay listlessly on her lap; she breathed with difficulty. Shortly afterwards, the landlady came into the room. She was alarmed at Lotty's condition. Her attempts to arouse the sick woman to consciousness were only partly successful.
"It's where you see the crowd," Lotty's voice answered still a cheerful voice, Scrap was glad to notice.
Scrap and Lotty, their faces upturned to the sky, said very little and in whispers. Rose said nothing. Her face too was upturned. She was looking at the umbrella pine, which had been smitten into something glorious, silhouetted against stars. Every now and then Scrap's eyes lingered on Rose; so did Lotty's. For Rose was lovely.
That day Scrap, egged on by Lotty's persuasions and also thinking that perhaps she had sat long enough, had arisen from her chair and cushions and gone off with Lotty and sandwiches up into the hills till evening. Mr. Wilkins, who wished to go with them, stayed on Lady Caroline's advice with Mrs.
Woodstock was glancing up and down the pages of a ledger, a telegram was delivered to him. It was from a hospital in the north-west of London. "Your daughter is dying, and wishes to see you. Please come at once." Lotty's ailment had declared itself as pneumonia.
She was unconscious that this was the reason of her dislike, and thought it was that there didn't seem to be much, if any, of the grace of god about him. And yet how wrong to feel that, she rebuked herself, and how presumptuous. No doubt Lotty's husband was far, far nearer to God than she herself was ever likely to be. Still, she didn't like him. "I've been a mean dog," said Mrs. Wilkins.
"I shouldn't," said Rose with caution, looking down into Lotty's bright eyes the path was steep, so that Lotty was well below her "I shouldn't be sure of that too quickly." "But I am sure of it, and I've written and told him so." Rose stared. "Why, but only this morning " she began. "It's all in this," interrupted Lotty, tapping the envelope and looking pleased. "What everything?"
"And this week that has just passed?" asked Mrs. Fisher. "The terrible bills of this first week? What about them?" "They shall be my present to San Salvatore," said Scrap, who didn't like the idea of Lotty's nest-egg being reduced so much beyond what she was prepared for. There was a silence. The ground was cut from under Mrs. Fisher's feet.
His steps went along the landing, and Lotty's steps seemed to go downstairs, and then there seemed to be a brief altercation at the bathroom door hardly so much an altercation as a chorus of vociferations on one side and wordless determination, Scrap judged, to have a bath by oneself on the other. Mr.
Fisher bursting out into anything, she who seemed so particularly firmly fixed inside her buttons, made Mrs. Arbuthnot laugh. She condoned Lotty's loose way of talking of heaven, because in such a place, on such a morning, condonation was in the very air. Besides, what an excuse there was.
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