Jennette Lee

“ The conversation in the sewing-room had lighted up many things that had puzzled her, and the woman's attitude revealed more than the words she had spoken. . . . Milly, recalling the conversation, gathered up the words and knit them carelessly into the flying wool as it passed through her fingers. The pattern was growing almost intricate.
The woman, leaning back in her chair, watched the swift-moving needles that knit the pattern.
"What is it you are making?" she asked.
Milly laid down the green knitted meshes and spread them a little on her lap, looking at them reflectively. ”

“ The woman settled contentedly to the bit of work in her hands. The rhythm of the needle passing in and out through the black cloth seemed to tranquillize her, and her face became quiet. "I like to sew," she said, smoothing the braid under her fingers. "I used to sew when Marian was home. We used to spend hours together, and even when she was off with the young people, I always felt she might come back any minute and take up her work by the other window. . . . I have scarcely touched a needle since she went—" She broke off, gazing before her. Then she went on sewing, her needle moving swiftly. ”

“ They lived out-of-doors—on the terrace here, and on the tennis-court; and there were drives and picnics often—and dances in the winter."
"But no one who ran in and out of the houses-more intimately than the others?" pursued Milly.
The woman hesitated. "Yes. Elise Marshall was here often. She was almost like a daughter in the house." The words were low, and Milly caught a hidden tone in them.
"Perhaps you hoped she might be—some day?" she said gently.
"I did hope it—yes. . . . I tried one day to say something to Stephen about it, but he turned away." ”