. . and so on till her daughter told her it was time to
take her medicine.
I suppose this reverie, which is a mere fragment of what actually ran
through Christina's brain, occupied about a minute and a half, but it, or
the presence of her son, seemed to revive her spirits wonderfully. Ill,
dying indeed, and suffering as she was, she brightened up so as to laugh
once or twice quite merrily during the course of the afternoon. Next day
Dr Martin said she was so much better that he almost began to have hopes
of her recovery again. Theobald, whenever this was touched upon as
possible, would shake his head and say: "We can't wish it prolonged," and
then Charlotte caught Ernest unawares and said: "You know, dear Ernest,
that these ups and downs of talk are terribly agitating to papa; he could
stand whatever comes, but it is quite too wearing to him to think half-a-
dozen different things backwards and forwards, up and down in the same
twenty-four hours, and it would be kinder of you not to do it--I mean not
to say anything to him even though Dr Martin does hold out hopes."
Charlotte had meant to imply that it was Ernest who was at the bottom of
all the inconvenience felt by Theobald, herself, Joey and everyone else,
and she had actually got words out which should convey this; true, she
had not dared to stick to them and had turned them off, but she had made
them hers at any rate for one brief moment, and this was better than
nothing.
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