For a time, and while her distress of mind was
so great as almost to endanger reason, she had refused to see Mrs.
Birtwell; but as that lady never failed to call at least once a week
to ask after her, always sending up her card and waiting for a
reply, Mrs. Voss at last yielded, and the friends met again. Mrs.
Birtwell would have thrown her arms about her and clasped her in a
passion of tears to her heart, but something stronger than a visible
barrier held her off, and she felt that she could never get as near
to this beloved friend as of old. The interview was tender though
reserved, neither making any reference to the sad event that was
never a moment absent from their thoughts.
After this Mrs. Birtwell came often, and a measure of the old
feeling returned to Mrs. Voss. Still, the card of Mrs. Birtwell
whenever it was placed in her hand by a servant never failed to
bring a shadow and sometimes a chill to her heart.
In a few moments Mrs. Birtwell entered the room; and after the usual
greetings and some passing remarks, Mrs. Voss said, speaking to the
lady with whom she had been conversing:
"What were you going to say--about some sorrowful story, I mean?"
The pleasant light which had come into the lady's face on meeting
Mrs. Birtwell, faded out. She did not answer immediately, and showed
some signs of embarrassment. But Mrs. Voss, not particularly
noticing this, pressed her for the story.
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