It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. If he had nothing to tell her, she had nothing to ask. The coffin was lowered into the grave, and the mourners departed. His figure was tall and commanding, and the expression of his countenance (though somewhat disturbed by his recent exertion) was resolute and stern. Hetty, who had periods of lucid expression, put the thing for her from her pillow. “They’re very good this year,” said Ann Veronica, avoiding controversial matter. Disappointed puppy-love, and all that. The necessity of defending herself and assuming a confident and secure tone did much to dispell the sense of being exposed and indefensible in a huge dingy world that abounded in sinister possibilities.
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