s usual effect.
She knew no mercy in its use. Her daughters were made to feel that if
they had been less headstrong and selfish in the past, she would have
been a vigorous and active woman to this day. Obviously, the very least
they could do, was to try by all means in their power, to lighten the
burden they had laid upon her. Yet Mrs. Fullerton was, by nature,
unselfish. She would have gladly sacrificed herself for her children's
good, as indeed she had persistently and doggedly sacrificed herself for
them, during their childhood, but naturally she had her own view of what
constituted their "good." It did not consist in wasting one's youth and
looks among the slums of the East End, or in deserting one's home to
study music and mix in a set of second-rate people, in an out-of-the-way
district of Paris. As for Hadria's conduct about little Martha, Mrs.
Fullerton could scarcely bring herself to speak about it. It terrified
her. She thought it indicated some taint of madness in her daughter's
mind. Two charming children of her own and--but Mrs. Fullerton, with a
painful flush, would turn her mind from the subject. She had to believe
her daughter either mad or bad, and that was terrible to her maternal
pride. She could indeed scarcely believe that it had not all been a
painful dream, for Hadria was now so good and dutiful, so tender and
watchful; how _could_ she have behaved so abominably, so crazily? Every
day Hadria came to the cottage, generally with a bunch of fresh flowers
to place by her mother's couch, and then all the affairs of the
household were talked over and arranged, the daughter doing what was
needed in the way of ordering provisions or writing notes, for the
invalid could now write only with the greatest difficulty. Then Mrs.
Fullerton liked to have a chat, to hear what was in the papers, what was
going on in the neighbourhood, and to discuss all sorts of dreary
details, over and over again. Books that Hadria would sometimes bring
were generally left unread, unless they were light novels of a rigidly
conventional character. Mrs. Fullerton grew so excited in her
condemnation of any other kind, that it was dangerous to put them before
her. In the evenings, the old couple liked to have a rubber, and often
Hubert and Hadria would make up the necessary quartett; four silent
human beings, who sat like solemn children at their portentous play,
while the clock on the mantel-piece recorded the moments of their lives
t