"Oh, she 's very nice. — I don't think she has much conversation."
"Ah, I 'm afraid you mean she does n't backbite. We 've always found plenty to talk about."
"That 's a very significant tone. What, for instance? "
"Well, we have talked about Miss Crowe."
"Oh, you have? Do you call that having plenty to talk about?"
"We have talked about Mr. Bruce, — have n't we, Elizabeth?" said Miss Cooper, who had her own notion of being agreeable.
It was not an altogether bad notion, perhaps; but Bruce found her interruptions rather annoying, and insensibly allowed them to shorten his visit. Yet, as it was, he sat till eleven o'clock, — a stay quite unprecedented at Glenham.
When he left the house, he went splashing down the road with a very elastic tread, springing over the starlit puddles, and trolling out some sentimental ditty. He reached the inn, and went up to his sister's sitting-room.
"Why, Robert, where have you been all this while?" said Miss Bruce.
"At Dr. Cooper's."
"Dr. Cooper's? I should think you had! Who 's Dr. Cooper?"
"Where Miss Crowe 's staying."
"Miss Crowe? Ah, Mrs. Littlefield's friend! Is she as pretty as ever?"
"Prettier, — prettier, — prettier. Ta-ra-ta! tara-ta!"
"Oh, Robert, do stop that singing! You 'll rouse the whole house."
V.
Late one afternoon, at dusk, about three weeks after Mr. Bruce's arrival, Lizzie was sitting alone by the fire, in Miss Cooper's parlor, musing, as became the place and hour. The Doctor and his sister came in, dressed for a lecture.
"I 'm sorry you won't go, my dear," said Miss Cooper. "It 's a most interesting subject: 'A Year of the War.' All the battles and things described, you know."
"I 'm tired of war," said Lizzie.
"Well, well, if you 're tired of the war, we 'll leave you in peace. Kiss me good-bye. What 's the matter? You look sick. You are homesick, a'n't you?"
"No, no, — I 'm very well."
"Would you like me to stay at home with you?"
"Oh, no! pray, don't!"
"Well, we 'll tell you all about it. Will they have programmes, James? I 'll bring her a programme. But you really feel as if you were going to be ill. Feel of her skin, James."
"No, you need n't, Sir," said Lizzie. "How queer of you, Miss Cooper! I 'm perfectly well."
And at last her friends departed. Before long the servant came with the lamp, ushering Mr. Mackenzie.
"Good evening, Miss," said he. "Bad news from Mrs. Ford."
"Bad news?"
"Yes, Miss. I 've just got a letter stating that Mr. John is growing worse and worse, and that they look for his death from hour to hour. — It 's very sad," he added, as Elizabeth was silent.
"Yes, it 's very sad," said Lizzie.
"I thought you 'd like to hear it."
"Thank you."
"He was a very noble young fellow," pursued Mr. Mackenzie.
Lizzie made no response.
"There 's the letter," said Mr. Mackenzie, handing it over to her.
Lizzie opened it.
"How long she is reading it!" thought her visitor. "You can't see so far from the light, can you, Miss?"
"Yes," said Lizzie. — "His poor mother! Poor woman!"
"Ay, indeed, Miss, — she 's the one to be pitied."
"Yes, she 's the one to be pitied," said Lizzie. "Well!" and she gave him back the letter.
"I thought you 'd like to see it," said Mackenzie, drawing on his gloves; and then, after a pause, — "I 'll call
