— 39 —The winter was sharp but fine at Brighton, and despite their sorrows the two ladies bloomed, Susan into a florid beauty, coquettishly at variance with her deep mourning, Mrs. Sacret into a clear precision of line and color well set off by the quiet yet fashionable dresses she affected, having discarded the crapes that had seemed fitting at the Old Priory. Their days were monotonous, since neither had any interests beyond some talking, embroidery or the reading of a novel from the circulating library. But this routine of good food, easy chairs, easier beds, fresh air, a carriage and pair, a maid to attend to their persons, was in itself soothing, and even Mrs. Sacret’s trouble was held in check.
One sparkle of hope she had when she threshed over (yet once again) the story of the pain
