"We don't deserve it." Lady
Mildmay smiled.
"I know what a strain the election was," said she. "Even Winterton felt
it, and Mr. Quisante never seems to rest, does he?" She rose to go, but,
as she said good-bye, she spoke one more word, half in a whisper and
timidly, "I daresay I'm wrong, but are you sure his heart's quite sound?"
And so she left them, excusing herself to the last for what might seem an
intrusion, or even a slight on the careful watch that an affectionate
wife keeps over her husband's health.
May walked to the hearthrug and stood there; Aunt Maria, sitting very
still, glanced up with a frightened gaze, but her speech came bitter with
aggressive scorn.
"What does the silly creature mean?" she asked. "There's nothing the
matter with Sandro, is there?"
"I don't know that there is," May answered slowly.
"The woman talks as if he was going to die." Still the tone was
contemptuous, still the look frightened. "Such nonsense!"
"I hope it is. He's not strong though, is he?"
Miss Quisante had often said the same, but now she received the remark
irritably.
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