"
Old Mrs. Paley, hitherto contented with her soup, here intimated, by
raising one hand to her ear, that she wished to know what was being
said.
"You heard, Aunt Emma, that poor Miss Vinrace has died of the fever,"
Susan informed her gently. She could not speak of death loudly or even
in her usual voice, so that Mrs. Paley did not catch a word. Arthur came
to the rescue.
"Miss Vinrace is dead," he said very distinctly.
Mrs. Paley merely bent a little towards him and asked, "Eh?"
"Miss Vinrace is dead," he repeated. It was only by stiffening all the
muscles round his mouth that he could prevent himself from bursting
into laughter, and forced himself to repeat for the third time, "Miss
Vinrace. . . . She's dead."
Let alone the difficulty of hearing the exact words, facts that were
outside her daily experience took some time to reach Mrs. Paley's
consciousness. A weight seemed to rest upon her brain, impeding, though
not damaging its action. She sat vague-eyed for at least a minute before
she realised what Arthur meant.
"Dead?" she said vaguely. "Miss Vinrace dead? Dear me . . . that's very
sad. But I don't at the moment remember which she was. We seem to have
made so many new acquaintances here." She looked at Susan for help. "A
tall dark girl, who just missed being handsome, with a high colour?"
"No," Susan interposed.
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