Death stripped of any false romance; whatever the idea of Death may contain, the process can be trivial and hideous.
"Important—Margaret dear, take the Lulworth when Helen comes."
"Helen won't be able to stop, Aunt Juley. She has telegraphed that she can only get away just to see you. She must go back to Germany as soon as you are well."
"How very odd of Helen! Mr. Wilcox—"
"Yes, dear?"
"Can he spare you?"
Henry wished her to come, and had been very kind. Yet again Margaret said so.
Mrs. Munt did not die. Quite outside her will, a more dignified power took hold of her and checked her on the downward slope. She returned, without emotion, as fidgety as ever. On the fourth day she was out of danger.
"Margaret—important," it went on: "I should like you to have some companion to take walks with. Do try Miss Conder."
"I have been a little walk with Miss Conder."
"But she is not really interesting. If only you had Helen."
"I have Tibby, Aunt Juley."
"No, but he has to do his Chinese. Some real companion is what you need. Really, Helen is odd."
"Helen is odd, very," agreed Margaret.
"Not content with going abroad, why does she want to go back there at once?"
"No doubt she will change her mind when she sees us. She has not the least balance."
That was the stock criticism about Helen, but Margaret's voice trembled as she made it. By now she was deeply pained at her sister's behaviour. It may be unbalanced to fly out of England, but to stop away eight months argues that the heart is awry as well as the head. A sick-bed could recall Helen, but she was deaf to more human calls; after a glimpse at her aunt, she would retire into her nebulous life behind some poste restante.
