"And
of course there are a few things left in the pantry and closets.
And you might get in a woman by the day. You won't starve, ma'am.
You've got your family in Jersey. We waited because we thought
Mr. and Mrs. Darrel would be sure to come."
"My father is ill. I think he's dying. My mother could not leave
him for a moment. Perhaps he's dead now," Feather wailed.
"You've got your London friends, ma'am--"
Feather literally beat her hands together.
"My friends! Can I go to people's houses and knock at their front
door and tell them I haven't any servants or anything to eat! Can
I do that? Can I?" And she said it as if she were going crazy.
The woman had said what she had come to say as spokeswoman for the
rest. It had not been pleasant but she knew she had been quite
within her rights and dealt with plain facts. But she did not
enjoy the prospect of seeing her little fool of a mistress raving
in hysterics.
"You mustn't let yourself go, ma'am," she said. "You'd better lie
down a bit and try to get quiet." She hesitated a moment looking
at the pretty ruin who had risen from her seat and stood trembling.
"It's not my place of course to--make suggestions," she said quietly.
"But--had you ever thought of sending for Lord Coombe, ma'am?"
Feather actually found the torn film of her mind caught for a
second by something which wore a form of reality.
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