THE OLD MAID
I must manage it in my own way. . . Only trust me . . .”
Charlotte’s lips stirred faintly.
“The tears . . . don’t dry them, Delia. . . . I like to feel them . . .”
The two cousins continued to lean against each other without speaking. The ormolu clock ticked out the measure of their mute communion in minutes, quarters, a half-hour, then an hour: the day declined and darkened, the shadows lengthened across the garlands of the Axminster and the broad white bed. There was a knock.
“The children’s waiting to say their grace before supper, ma’am.”
“Yes, Eliza. Let them say it to you. I'll come later.” As the nurse’s steps receded Charlotte Lovell disengaged herself from Delia’s embrace.
“Now I can go,” she said.
[ 55 ]
