He had known her during certain
black days of his youth, and she had comprehended things he did not
tell her. She had not spoken of them to him but she had silently
given him of something which vaguely drew him to her side when
darkness seemed to overwhelm him. The occupations of her life
left her in those earlier days little leisure for close intimacies,
but, when she began to sit by her fire letting the busy world pass
by, he gradually became one of those who "dropped in".
In one of the huge rooms she had chosen for her own daily use,
by the well-tended fire in its shining grate, she had created
an agreeable corner where she sat in a chair marvellous for ease
and comfort, enclosed from draughts by a fire screen of antique
Chinese lacquer, a table by her side and all she required within
her reach. Upon the table stood a silver bell and, at its sound,
her companion, her reader, her maid or her personally trained
footman, came and went quietly and promptly as if summoned by
magic. Her life itself was simple, but a certain almost royal
dignity surrounded her loneliness. Her companion, Miss Brent, an
intelligent, mature woman who had known a hard and pinched life,
found at once comfort and savour in it.
"It is not I who am expensive,"--this in one of her talks with
Coombe, "but to live in a house of this size, well kept by excellent
servants who are satisfied with their lot, is not a frugal thing.
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