We waited a discreet time before returning the call of the Bentley
ladies, but not so long as to seem conscious. In fact, we had been
softened towards Mrs. Bentley by what Glendenning told us of her
suffering, and we were disposed to forgive a great deal of patronage and
superiority to her asthma; they were not part of the disease, but still
they were somehow to be considered with reference to it in her case.
We were admitted by the maid, who came running down the hall stairway,
with a preoccupied air, to the open door where we stood waiting. There
were two great syringa-bushes on each hand close to the portal, which
were in full flower, and which flung their sweetness through the doorway
and the windows; but when we found ourselves in the dim old-fashioned
parlor, we were aware of this odor meeting and mixing with another which
descended from the floor above--the smell of some medicated pastille.
There was a sound of anxious steps overhead, and a hurried closing of
doors, with the mechanical sound of labored breathing.
"We have come at a bad time," I suggested.
"Yes, _why_ did they let us in?" cried my wife in an anguish of
compassion and vexation. She repeated her question to Miss Bentley, who
came down almost immediately, looking pale, indeed, but steady, and
making a brave show of welcome.
"My mother would have wished it," she said, "and she sent me as soon as
she knew who it was. You mustn't be distressed," she entreated, with a
pathetic smile. "It's really a kind of relief to her; anything is that
takes her mind off herself for a moment. She will be so sorry to miss
you, and you must come again as soon as you can."
"Oh, we will, we will!" cried my wife, in nothing less than a passion of
meekness; and Miss Bentley went on to comfort her.
"It's dreadful, of course, but it isn't as bad as it sounds, and it
isn't nearly so bad as it looks. She is used to it, and there is a great
deal in that. Oh, _don't_ go!" she begged, at a movement Mrs. March made
to rise. "The doctor is with her just now, and I'm not needed. It will
be kind if you'll stay; it's a relief to be out of the room with a good
excuse!" She even laughed a little as she said this; she went on to lead
the talk away from what was so intensely in our minds, and presently I
heard her and my wife speaking of other things. The power to do this is
from some heroic quality in women's minds that we do not credit them
with; we think it their volatility, and I dare say I thought myself much
better, or at least more serious in my make, because I could not follow
them, and did not lose one of those hoarse gasps of the sufferer
overhead. Occasionally there came a stifling cry that made me jump,
inwardly if not outwardly, but those women had their drama to play, and
they played it to the end.
Miss Bentley came hospitably to the door with us, and waited there till
she thought we could not see her turn and run swiftly up-stairs.
"Why _did_ you stay, my dear?" I groaned. "I felt as if I were
personally smothering Mrs. Bentley every moment we were there."
"I _had_ to do it. She wished it, and, as she said, it was a relief to
have us there, though she was wishing us at the ends of the earth all
the time. But what a ghastly life!"
"Yes; and can you wonder that the poor woman doesn't want to give her
up, to lose the help and comfort she gets from her? It's a wicked thing
for that girl to think of marrying."
"What are you talking about, Basil? It's a wicked thing for her _not_ to
think of it! She is wearing her life out, _tearing_ it out, and she
isn't doing her mother a bit of good. Her mother would be just as well,
and better, with a good strong nurse, who could lift her this way and
that, and change her about, without feeling her heart-strings wrung at
every gasp, as that poor child must. Oh, I _wish_ Glendenning was man
enough to make her run off with him, and get married, in spite of
everything. But, of course, that's impossible--for a clergyman! And her
sacrifice began so long ago that it's become part of her life, and
she'll simply have to keep on."