"Why? What can I demand better in this world than to be of use to you?"
"I had no claim."
"Monstrous! And you did nothing?"
"Yes: I walked straight into the laundry, where they are ironing most of the week, now that I have so many guests in the house. While the maid was busy crimping or starching, I took an Italian iron from the fire, and applied the light scarlet glowing tip to my arm: I bored it well in: it cauterized the little wound. Then I went up-stairs."
"I daresay you never once groaned?"
"I am sure I don't know. I was very miserable. Not firm or tranquil at all, I think: there was no calm in my mind."
"There was calm in your person. I remember listening the whole time we sat at luncheon, to hear if you moved in the room above: all was quiet."
"I was sitting at the foot of the bed, wishing Phœbe had not bitten me."
"And alone! You like solitude."
"Pardon me."
"You disdain sympathy."
"Do I, Mr. Moore?"
"With your powerful mind, you must feel independent of help, of advice, of society."
"So be it—since it pleases you."
She smiled. She pursued her embroidery carefully and quickly; but her eyelash twinkled, and then it glittered, and then a drop fell.
